The Girl With Two Faces
by SaneTwin1-2
Summary: Everyone has a breaking point: a flicker of insecurity, a fluster of memory, and most importantly, a moment of pure insanity. Although, with Quinn Fabray, it may be more insanity than anything else. Almost M
1. Creation

Summary: Everyone has a breaking point: a flicker of insecurity, a fluster of memory, and most importantly, a moment of pure insanity. Although, with Quinn Fabray, it may be more insanity than anything else. Set in Season 1

Words: 7,157

Author: SaneTwin1-2

Note: Hello! This is set in Season 1 - but without the baby drama. Just imagine that it is as the beginning of Glee.

* * *

><p>Everything has a breaking point. When set to the correct temperature, water will boil, metals will melt, and with too much weather damage, roads will even erode; it's just about the same with a person, they can fall apart and crumble just like anything else that may be manufactured. But what is more difficult is understanding the reason, hardly being as durable as concrete, it came with a sort of insight in human nature.<p>

With Quinn, it was harder to trace. She had the systematic currency of McKinley, good grades, a golden reputation, the flowering prosperity of her father's business, all the material she needed to make a name of herself, inside and out of Lima. But while the old familiar goals had kept her in well enough shape for the future, something else had started to take root. It started slowly, like most things do. Maybe a glance in the hallway, a raised hand in class, an interruption, a passionate rant, whatever it was, it started getting underneath her skin.

She refused to admit it at first, this affection, it was something she couldn't understand. Any knowledge she gained was from the horror of her father's own contempt. But as much as she struggled, it was hard to overlook something that never left. She found herself watching _her, _waiting for_ her,_ looking for_ her, _wanting_ her._ An almost overwhelming amount of proof sat underneath her bed, her fixation drawn out across sketchbooks and overdue homework. It wasn't long after her fifth missing assignment that she forced herself to acknowledge it. This _crush_.

Quinn was a girl who liked results. If she took time into something, she expected her effort to have gone to some good use; or at least make some progress. But with all the work she took to pushing Rachel away, it did nothing for her. She still got those queasy feelings in the pit of her stomach, still felt completely out of control, even with her added title of HBIC. She was at a loss, and as frustrated as ever - because this wasn't just a small flicker that momentarily caught her attention, like a moth you can swat from your eyes - though her case did fit well with a moth analogy, as she herself grew flighty and fluttered about, drawn to the flame.

And every once in a while, Quinn would indulge in the thought that Rachel liked her too. It was one of those fantasies couldn't help but want, couldn't help but revisit in the middle of the night, that every insult she ever threw was seen as it was, and that Rachel wasn't ashamed, mad or embarrassed She would pretend that Rachel wanted her too, that she was just waiting for her to figure it out.

It was depressingly easy to avoid the truth when one was desperate to see something else, but Quinn had always a knack for being composed of only reality, and never survived long in any dream. So her indulging thought remained so, and very rarely flamed up into anything so deceiving Should she ever get too hopeful and search for any signs of proof, then the answer would be well received in Rachel's hard, defensive gaze. And if Quinn thought really hard about it, it might have been that fact alone that caused all of this.

Which all somehow found a way on Santana Lopez's shoulders, "I can't believe you convinced me to do this, Fabray." Santana's smoky voice drifted through the end of Quinn's cell phone, nestled snugly in the crook of her shoulder.

Blinking away the thickness of her thoughts, Quinn lazily brought the phone back to her ear. Her friend's voice crackled through the phone again. "I knew you were already well gone in that noggin of yours, but this is a little too much madness for me, and probably for the likes of the last few sane people in this town. Which, by the way, is starting to look like it's still just me."

Quinn rolled her eyes and dropped her head against the wall of Charlotte's Web, which was, apparently, the only legitimate store that carried the necessities for her plan in stock. She wasn't even allowed to enter Hot Topic without an adult, which was her first idea, but with more thought, she convinced Santana to take her to the store in her local facility.

Mulling it over, she decided it was a good call, Hot Topics was like a children's day care in comparison. "You already agreed. No backing out now Lopez." Quinn said absently, tilting her sunglasses back to look out for the straying ally men that seem to lurk around like mice. "Just get everything and I'll slip in and pay for it."

Already, she was compromising her morals. Willingly stepping into the boundaries of Lima Heights was warranted at least a weeks worth of punishment from her father, but since he wasn't about to find out, she figured memorizing passages from the Bible could wait till after she was arrested for being this reckless.

She figured Santana could manage the shopping until her heart properly recovered from the pleasant discovers it made from encountering the civilians here - all in which, looked very much like the 'outdoor campers' Coach Sylvester studied for her most recent Sue's Corner.

Santana's hazy voice returns, breaking Quinn from her inner musings and making her position the phone again. "This better not bite me in the ass later, Fabray. If you plan on becoming some kind of gothic serial killer, fine, but don't be dragging me down with you." Quinn opened her mouth to retort, but Santana continued heedlessly, "Also, what color wig did you want again? Because honestly, this brown one ugly as fuck."

Quinn pursed her lips and tapped the phone irritably with her finger, "The brown one is fine, just add it to the pile." Quinn waited for the scathing remark, but could only hear the quiet transmission of static and the distant clicking of metal. Quinn huffed and continued on. "You know, you don't have to like it. I already looked at it online. It's fine."

When she was met with only silence, Quinn sighed and scratched her forehead irritably with her wrist. She positioned her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose again, waiting impatiently for Santana to say something - anything really.

Finally, Santana's hazy voice returned, "Yeah, there is no way in hell I'm buying this."

Quinn's forehead furrowed, huffing, "Santana, just get the wig and I'll pay for it! I don't care if you like it or not." And with another huff, sounding a little more petulant than intended, she continued, "I mean, I have to look _considerably_ attractive in it, and brown hair is like the middle ground for people with pale skin."

Santana's voice was thick with indolence, "Alright Fabray, dial back your crazy for a bit." Quinn could only roll her eyes. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea, because honestly, I couldn't give a fuck, but somethings going on with you and the whole 'I just want a new look' descriptor is no longer cutting it for me. So, if you have plans to murder half the population, or whatever you Christians do on your free time, you're gonna have to tell me now before I get my ass in jail for you."

There was a pause, and then a distinct sound of disgust. "Man, who walks out of the house looking like that? You should see the cashier, she looks like a pregnant cow with a flamboyant dead bird nesting in her hair." Santana finished with a snort, her voice raising to alert everyone in a ten mile radius of her offensive opinion.

Quinn frowned and glared at the phone again, a mixture of confusion and irritation flickering across her face. "So, you're not getting the stuff?" Quinn finished with a hint of uncertainty. She always needs an affirmative with Santana, sometimes words just came out of her mouth without true commitment to go through with them.

"Just get your ass in here Fabray." Quinn frowned when the call suddenly ended, leaving only the light beeping of the dial tone to ring in her ears. With a petulant huff, Quinn snapped the phone shut and readjusted her sunglasses. Kicking away the loose gravel, she sneakily made her way to the front of the building and maneuvered away from the sights of direct sunlight. Those 'outdoor campers' can practically smell sweat.

Pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, she snuck through the darkly dappled building and avoided any eyes that may have strayed to her. It smelled faintly of old clothes and musky cologne that burned dimly in her throat. She found Santana by a shelf of demonic jewelry, shifting through the anti-Christ symbols as if it were old newspaper articles.

Quinn didn't want to share her plan with Santana; the girl was pretty much incapable of feeling empathy, or any form of compassion, and sharing this somewhat sketchy transition in her life would most likely be met with unwavering laughter. But Quinn couldn't bare tell anyone else, so it left Quinn with two undesirable options: tell the truth, or give up now and reserve herself to a dull and disappointing life.

Quinn pursed her lips, switching back and forth between the two evils. It took some time, but she mulled over the idea of giving up, crumbling up her plan and settling down with her current boyfriend, which would inevitably end with marriage and several happy (dopey) children in Lima. With a gut ripping twist, Quinn ducked her head shyly and tried to formulate a way to put her situation lightly; which was a loss on Santana as she completely missed the need for delicacy and coarsely added for her to 'spit it out already'.

Quinn's head bows and lets out a hoarse, inaudible whisper. "I don't think I can be Quinn Fabray any longer." Santana raised an unimpressed eyebrow and instantly pressed the speed-up button on Quinn's nervous speech. "Well, not entirely at least. I can still be her in a way, I just can't...look like her."

Santana raised her other eyebrow and a flash of something passed across her face. Suddenly, the squirming feeling in Quinn's stomach returned.

Quinn took another shaky breath, "Look, I can't _explain_ it, okay? All you need to know is that this is something I'm going to do," when Santana just stared at her, she felt the need to slip out another part, as though her friend really didn't mean that much to her, as though she didn't need her and wasn't feeling queasy again with the fear of doing this alone. "With or _without_ your help."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Right, well if not me, then get some sort of attention. I can call the institution." Quinn sighed and raised a hand, covering her eyes helplessly. She could sense the quick fall of another response and just how quickly this conversation could turn out into an argument, and then she would never have her help. It was now or never.

"I want Rachel Berry." Santana blinked wordlessly, but Quinn had already started, and the words wouldn't stop, "I want Rachel Berry, and not in the way that I wanted Finn, or wanted my sisters old bicycle. I want her, but as the whole world knows, Rachel doesn't want me, and for a pretty _damn_ good reason." She sighed and her eyes flickered about, another thought popping in almost absently. "My parents would kill me."

The pause that extended between them was endless, but when Quinn continued, it was all in the same breath, and her heart jumped to life again.

"But if I wasn't Quinn Fabray, maybe...I could get her." Quinn muttered helplessly, but still, the words wouldn't stop. "I could be Quinn Fabray for a good portion of the day, go to school, get good grades, show up for dinner, and meet all of my parents requirements, but then, when I could fit time in, I could be someone else. Someone no one knows, who no one would recognize. Someone who could get Rachel Berry."

Santana was staring at her with wide, crazy eyes, but still, the words continued to flow out of her, becoming a slur of nervous explanations.

"I mean, sure...it's going to be difficult. I know Rachel could probably recognize my voce. But I figured those things can easily be altered and maybe, if I look different enough, she wouldn't be able to recognize me. I can't look ridiculous, but, if I could buy a different hair color or maybe just different clothes, she wouldn't see Quinn Fabray in her. She would see somebody else."

Quinn slowly drifted off when she took notice of Santana's gaping mouth, moving irritably up and down like some fish.

When Quinn felt as though she may be sick with all the emotional indigestion, Santana finally found her voice. "This is a fucking joke, right? If so, fuck you, and if not, that is so fucking messed up, I don't even know where to begin."

Quinn's heart jumped again and she fought the urge to do something drastic, or possibly embarrassing. She didn't want to loose Santana, no matter how irritating she was.

Quietly, she stepped a little closer, her voice dipping down. "This isn't a joke Santana, I can assure you." Evidently, that wasn't the answer Santana was hoping for, because her lips only grew firmer in the corners, carving lines into her caramel forehead.

Quinn raked a hand nervously through her hair. "Honestly, Santana, this isn't a joke. I know it's a little...crazy," Quinn breathed out airily, but ignored the odd and somewhat cruel sound that came out of Santana's mouth, "but this is something I'm going to do, whether you help me or not."

A rich silence followed shortly after her words. Santana's dark eyes narrowed like that of a snake, reducing into dark distrustful slits. Santana watched her carefully as her eyes flickered up and down Quinn's body as if expecting to see her deceit written plainly on her skin.

Evidently, she didn't find an inky telegram on Quinn's arm, and eventually let out a sigh, kneading gently at her temple. "Ah, fuck. Why the hell do I always get mixed up with the crazies?" Quinn stomach bottomed out, but she forced herself to follow the trail her words, working past the stab of her first sentence. "Come on Blondie, you have to disguise yourself better than that. Clark Kent may have gotten away with it, but your not fucking Superman. If you part your hair and put large glasses on, people will still recognize you. I'll just never speak to you again."

Quinn slowly blinked, parting her lips as if to ask a question, although, no other words came out. Santana rolled her eyes and knocked Quinn lightly on the hip as she turned around toward another part of the store. Quinn felt weak all of a sudden as she watched her friend walk away, but the sentiments of her emotions quickly turned sour when Santana looked behind her and whistled at her like a dog.

If that wasn't enough, she followed through with her usually offensive voice, "Come on Lassie, I don't have all day." Quinn gawked and straightened her spine in revolt, folding her arms stubbornly across her torso. The aching throb in her chest vanished the moment Santana opened her big mouth. Being neglected and abandoned was starting to look like the ideal situation.

Santana's only answer was to turn around and stalk towards the sketchy place in the store, a move marked with trepidation as she slipped behind the curtains. Quinn frowned and bit her lip, hesitating to move any closer to the possibly possessed shelves, but with Santana's impatient whistle, Quinn kicked into gear and forced her legs to follow.

Surrounded by darkness, Quinn gasped as the hard frame of a chair abruptly knocked against her knees; Santana's hands pulled her into the seat and pressured her shoulders to relax into it. With only the blackness in front of her, Quinn groped for a familiar object to hold onto, frustrated with her limited range of the wooden arms of her chair.

She was about to jump out by any means possible by the time Santana clicked one of the dangling lights above her, filling the room with a gloomy sort of luminance. It was an instant relief and her body fell into the chair, deflated from a breath Quinn hadn't realized she was holding.

Quinn's glare was acid; it could have scared anyone into submission, but Santana merely laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, are you claustrophobic? It must have slipped my mind." Tugging on Quinn's ear, she moved away to quickly uncover the clothed mirror in front of her, firmly readjusting it into the proper lighting. "You're about as hopeless as Finn winning a single football game, but, who knows, maybe with a little slut luck." Santana crinkled her nose as she wiped away the faint stains of makeup and other unknown substances from the vanity.

Quinn sunk lowly into her seat, her eyes becoming cautious and weary. "I don't want to look like some harlot, I just- I just."

"Yeah, I got it the first time, hot for Berry. We're making it happen, so sit the fuck down." Santana pressed her hands back to Quinn's shoulders, as she had already tried to make a move to leave. When Quinn stopped resisting and finally sank back down into the chair, Santana smirked and removed herself to filter sample products with the promising fact that Quinn stilled at the thought of Berry.

As Santana left her side, Quinn's attention diverted to anything else but the mirror, lingering on the posters and pictures stapled onto the walls; but every few seconds her eyes would flicker back to the glass reflection and an uncomfortable squirming would occur in her lower intestines. She didn't look like the girl she remembered; there was no happy Christian smile, or unwavering hazel eyes.

This girl was hesitant and cracked, like a stranger you might meet in a seedy place where one can only keep eye contact for a few seconds before it becomes shamed. She was unrecognizable, a different girl. She wasn't exactly Quinn Fabray, but she wasn't the new girl either, she was a girl inbetween and Quinn didn't exactly like her.

The girl sighed and ran a hand through her hair, staring uneasily into the darkness where Santana had disappeared. Her anxiety trailed off when she stared longer into Santana's darkened corner, feeling a kneading curiosity in the pit of her stomach. Santana has no reason to be here, especially since she isn't exactly a charitable person. The last time the Salvation Army tried to ask for money, Santana growled at them like a wild dog and scared them half to death.

Clearing her throat, Quinn looked back to Santana. "Why are you helping me, San?"

In the darkness, there was a pause. It was hardly noticeable, but it lasted for a few seconds longer before Santana was in motion again. "Other than to see you crash and burn?" Quinn rolled her eyes and returned her gaze to the gauzy mirror. "I suppose it's 'cause my life is as dry as the Sahara desert and your little mental break down is like a fucking oasis for my boring life." There was a faint clicking sound as Santana rummaged through the piles again, "Also, my television broke down last month and I am seriously getting Reality TV withdrawals. If only you spoke Espanól, then this would truly be the Spanish soap operas I am desperately missing."

Quinn shook her head and chuckled. "You're a bitch, Lopez."

Santana suddenly appeared right beside her and swiftly latched a metal demonic chain around her neck, "The one and only." Quinn watched the metal necklace dangle on her neck with wide fearful eyes, but could only nod weakly when Santana questioned if she should continue. Santana looked far too pleased for their interaction to be considered legal.

It went on like that for nearly an hour and a half. Quinn only grew paler as the time went on, changing with a wide variety of different facial features and hair colors. Her expression was drawn on as if she were a dry erase board. Once and a while a customer or curious staff member would wander over to question them, but whether they were irritating or merely curious, they left in a hurry after hearing the long stream of insults tunneling from Santana's smiling, hyena lips. All the while, Quinn's pile of clothes and jewelry grew larger.

Getting the nose piercing was a deal Quinn tried to squirm out of. She didn't even like facial jewelry, but Santana somehow managed to tie her to it. And it was a nasty compromise: a nose ring or a tongue piercing. Normally, Quinn would have disregarded Santana's opinion whenever she saw fit, but due to their current situation, she had no choice but to acquiesce. Still, the nose ring was better than the dangle metal bar that would have gone through her tongue.

"I still don't know why a nose ring is necessary " Quinn lamented, wincing when Santana's short fingernails scratched against the tender spot behind her ear. "I can take off a wig, but a nose ring leaves a hole. And my parents don't like jewelry that pierce the skin, they think it's unnatural." Santana's snort was loud in her ear and she scratched the tender spot again, with perhaps more intention.

Santana's smirk was conniving. "Ya know, I always wondered about that." she drawled as she picked through her pile, finally fingering the nick of an old faux leather collar. Quinn stilled, her eyes wide. Santana snorted. "What made nose rings the devil's jewelry, but nailing a guy to a cross is written down and worshiped" The dig was enough to blink her dazzled stare and open her mouth, but Santana had quickly cut back in, just in time to save herself from a sermon. "They're not gonna notice, Q. You could probably come home without an arm and they wouldn't notice until it stained their white cushions."

Santana smirked and worked the latch on the metal teeth, her fingers swiftly clicking the collar together and readjusting the position.

She didn't notice the tightened muscles underneath her fingertips, or the way Quinn had stopped breathing. She didn't see the tension coil in her stomach or the ice set in her eyes. What she didn't understand was the small flicker of fear that came from a child's greatest terror: the thought of being unloved. It's a quiet, cold knowledge that looms in the back of her mind and bites her with hard mechanical jaws whenever she gives it any notice.

Quinn felt the cold icy knowledge slip through her veins. Her heart constricts, but with great difficulty, she swallows down the stream of insults she wants to whip out.

"Whatever. Just make sure it's a small hole. You're enough trouble as it is, I don't need anyone else figuring me out." Quinn said coolly, her voice becoming sharp enough to cut her own tongue. Santana only nodded, taking note to the shaky ground between them.

She didn't say anything more, but her movements became delicate, her hands become gentle and her fingernails no longer scratched the tender spot behin her ear, and eventually, Quinn relaxed into her chair.

After what seemed to be a century, Santana released a long sigh that marked the end of Quinn's torture. "There, I did it." Santana wiped the fake sweat off her forehead and leaned closer to appreciate her work through the mirror. "I can now officially call you attractive without hacking up a lung." Quinn shot her a glare through the corner of her eyes, but quickly returned her attention to her reflection. She was stunned, she looked completely different.

Quinn shifted foreward and looked sharply over her new features, moving her eyes rapidly across the unrecognizable reflection. The blonde hair was gone, stuck underneath a fiery pink wig. It was tapered and wild, ghosting past her cheek and framing her face in an oddly alluring way. Even things Santana did not alter looked different.

Her high cheekbones looked hollow and dusted her skin with a paler skin tone. Her nose was delicate and thin, and her cheekbones swept down to a small chin that made her face appear heart-shaped. The girl in the mirror looked at her unwaveringly, unashamed, her wide-set hazel eyes swirling with mystery.

This wasn't Quinn Fabray, and this wasn't her reflection, but she owned it somehow, and she felt the need to claim it. Hesitantly, Quinn touched her cheek with the soft pads of her fingertips, gingerly exploring her high cheekbones and the small dimple in her chin, touching as if she were afriad the skin may disappear.

Santana watched Quinn with a bored expression until her patience broke. "So, Mr. Kent, you have a new name for that look, right? Cause if it's something embarressing or in any association with fruit, I will take you down." Quinn blinked and slowly removed her gaze from the girl in the mirror, turning to stare blankly at her friend. She hadn't considered getting a new name, least of all what it may be if she were to get one. Santana's smirk slowly fell off her face the longer Quinn's silence crawled on, dragging the moment out painfully between them.

"You're joking, right?" Quinn at least had the decency to look ashamed and Santana's expression of surprise slowly molded into one of disgust. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. You didn't think about this at all before jumping into it, did you? _Dios mio_." Santana shook her head.

"Yes I did!" Quinn retorted stubbornly, but the faint blush on her cheeks conflicted with her lie. Quinn returned her gaze to the mirror, vaguely grabbing her lower lip in an inattentive habit. "I can't just go by my middle name?" Quinn said with her pointer and middle finger poised against her lips. Santana's eyes narrowed onto her nervous quirk, watching as the fingers moved by muscle memory to reflect her anxiety.

"No, you can't." Santana said bluntly. She didn't know Quinn's middle name but she wouldn't be surprised if it was something embarressing like her sister's name, or something Christian - which was equally shameful in her opinion. Quinn huffed and turned her attention back to the mirror, tuggling lightly on her lower lip. "Also, what the fuck are you doing?"

Quinn blinked and dropped her hand limply into her lap, looking up at her friend with a mix of skeptical puzzlement, "What?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "First, you can't act like Quinn Fabray, so stop doing all of her quirks and little antics." Quinn pauses and furrows her brow, obviously trying to remember what she did only moments ago. Santana sighs and taps her lightly on the wrist, "You've got a problem with playing with your fingers and lower lip." Quinn blushs and quickly looks away, clearing her throat uncomfortably. It was an odd expression on the face of this new woman, which reminded Santana of the problem at hand. "_And, _since you're incapable in doing so yourself, I will name you Dara."

That got her attention. The girl paused and tilted her head to the side in question, "Dara?" Again, the expression looked odd on the face of a woman with metal chains wrapped around her belt loops.

Santana sighed in exasperation, "Yeah, she was a character in a movie I watched. She was all badass and rode with a motorcycle gang, but those are all unnecessary details." Santana shook her words away with a wave of her hand, eager to move on with the subject and Quinn forced herself to bite down her remark on Santana's dork-i-ness. "_Anyway_, the point is that the name fits a punk high-school drop out, not a Christian cheerleader. And right now you look like some half-breed inbetween. And if I don't buy it, there is no way in hell Berry will. She probably smells fear with that large Toucan beak of hers."

Quinn's eyes flash briefly before she looks back to the mirror, her hand ghosting across the pink hair and the darkened hollows of her cheekbones. She hesitates, nibbling lightly on her lower lip, "Do you really think Rachel will like all of this?" Quinn's voice wavered and she cleared her throat uncomfortably, "I mean, do you think she's into this kind of stuff? Because what if she doesn't like nose rings, or 'punk high school drop outs', what do I do then?" Quinn asked timidly, her fingers tracing the large witch symbols on her necklace.

Santana paused to stare at Quinn with an unreadable expression. Her dark eyes whirled ominously in the dim light, and the sudden pressure of the new mood prickled across their skin, forcing a thick silence to emerge between them.

As it grew, Santana's lips started to move, a subconscious motion to patch up the uncomfortable silence, "I don't know if Berry will like 'Dara', but it's not like she was a big fan of Quinn Fabray either." Quinn winced and looked away, the ominous light casting dark shadows across her face.

Santana's forehead crinkled and her lips moved again to manage the damage, "What I mean is that you don't have anything to loose, and if you really want Berry – which makes me vomit a little in my mouth – then you kinda don't have a choice. I can't guarantee anything since Berry still chases that boy toy you dangle around," Quinn grimaced fiercely, "but, I don't know, maybe the hobbit will surprise you."

Santana finished tightly, her dark eyes staring at Quinn a little longer to make sure the message was passed before shifting away from her; an action that can be understood since Santana didn't like to be out of her stone fortress of heartlessness for any longer than a few minutes. Either way, Quinn appreciated it.

Quinn nodded slowly, absorbing the rare bit of kindness from her friend with a small smile. Tilting her head, she looked back to the mirror and rotated her face, getting the full view of this new identity. Her long eyelashes were darkened with slick black mascara; her lips were colored a different shade now, looking moist with a vibrant bloody red. Her skin appeared a shade paler than before from the fiery contrast of her pink hair and hollowed cheekbones, but with the right expression, she had to admit she looked good.

Quinn tested out a few expressions, going through the short list of facial flexibilities. And of course, when the uncomfortable sentimental feelings vanished from Santana's iron stomach, she returned with vengeance. She blushed at Santana's muffled laughter when she curled her lip and clawed the empty air.

Evidently, she did find something that Santana deemed worthy; it wasn't apathetic, but it wasn't something that would scare the dogs away. Her eye-lids drooped half-way into a hazy sleepy expression. Puckering her lips, she blew herself a kiss. She would have Rachel Berry, even if it wasn't Quinn Fabray that would get her.

She could do it, she could be Dara.

Dara...Dara something.

Quinn sighed and rolled her eyes. Of course she had never planned to use another name other than her own, but now its obvious that would be her only choice. She would have to think of something, but for now, Quinn was content with admiring this new side of her - watching as her new half-identity formed into her skin. And she had to say, her skin wore it perfectly.

Through the reflection of the mirror, Quinn watched distantly as Santana started to move behind her. Her caramel skin flickered in and out of sight as she walked through the thin ribbons of light. She prowled like a lion through the room and back again, almost restless on her feet, and yet, showing no signs of distress.

Quinn turned in her chair, almost speaking out to her friend as she disappeared through the door. But if she was getting in a fight, there really wasn't anything Quinn could do to stop her. There was very little people who really could.

Fortunatley, she didn't have to worry for long, because sure enough Santana had swiftly reappeared through the dangling beads and reaffirmed her grating presence with a sharp tug on Quinn's pink hair.

"Where did you go off to?" Quinn said irritably, still ducking down to avoid any future trauma from Santana's fingers. Santana only rolled her eyes again.

"To get proper sunglasses," In a swift movement, Santana pushed the darkly tinted lens up the bridge of Quinn's nose, "I realize that you're eyes are like some kind of gay billboard that flashes your name in bright rainbow colors, so sunglasses should do the trick for a little while." Quinn frowned, but by some unholy force of nature, was able to ignore the barb.

"So you think this will work?" Quinn asked; somehow, she still needed reassurance, despite the four hours of torture that created a different her. And even more surprisingly, Santana didn't make fun of her. Instead, she smiled through the mirror and clasped Quinn's shoulder tightly.

"Don't worry Dara, you'll get your Berry."

* * *

><p>Rachel Berry sighed as she slid from her car's leather seats. Her fathers were becoming rather gluttonous. This was the second time this month she was sent out to retrieve goodies from the local store, and for some reason, her vegan ice cream kept disappearing. She had her suspicions, of course, but its become all too clear now who were the conspirators of it all. The name of her delicious vegan treat was written on her fathers' "Must Get" list.<p>

Rachel shook her head and briskly stepped up onto th side walk. She would have to talk to her parents later about possessions and ownership, and how they aren't usually shared just because a marathon of Greys Anatomy is on. With a huff, Rachel stepped up into the widened entrance of the store.

As she reached for a cart, however, her eyes caught a singular movement that dragged her attention to the lone figure across from her. In a corner where some of the most haggard of men loomed about, stood a more pronounced figure against the wall.

She was a woman, a fact quickly assured by the snug clothes that clung to her body in a number of appealing ways, broadcasting the attractive curves underneath the metals and chains looped into her loose dark t-shirt.

It wasn't just her strange attire that kept her apart from the ambiguous men around her, there was something else that separated her pale skin from the pasty flesh of her surroundings. Rachel couldn't quite put a finger to it, but it caught her attention like a meat hook and kept her dangling. Smoldering pink hair framed her face and brought Rachel's eyes to the defined lines of her bone structure.

She was distinguished in ways that were almost familiar, but she couldn't place a name on that face. Just the simple fact that she was beautiful.

As fate would have it, the woman abruptly turned her head away from the man blundering in front of , perhaps to escape the drunkard's obvious moves on her with a silencing cold shoulder. But te movement that was meant to block something opened up a tunnel of vision for Rachel. And when their eyes met, even with those dark eyeglasses, she could feel the sharpness of her eyes.

She nearly stepped closer, the curiosity getting the better of her, but as the woman turned her attention completely towards her, her feet rooted to the cement. Rachel watched with a hint of surprise as the woman's lips slowly spread into a smirk, a pink tongue peeking out from behind her perfect row of white teeth and slowly wet her lips. What surprised Rachel even more is how her eyes seemed adamant to follow this swift movement.

With an imperceptible swallow, Rachel willed herself to move on. She had to get her vegan cheese, a very important factor for her father's adored vegan lasagna recipe. And staring at this stranger had already delayed her greatly.

But as she slowly removed herself to retrieve her abandoned cart, she cast another look behind her shoulder to the unknown girl and felt her cheeks heat up; a predatory smirk curled across the stranger's lips.

With another swallow, Rachel tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and briskly continued her walk towards the entrance. Before she could completely venture into the Supermarket, she caught a movement as quick as a knife in the corner of her eye; the stranger raised a hand to her and slowly waved it in the air. She wasn't beckoning her closer, but something in the way her lips curled made it seem like she didn't have to.

In a frazzled mood, Rachel stiffly continued walking. That smirk stuck with her through the Supermarket, all the way home, through dinner, and until her absentmindedness brought a fork full of burning cheese to her lips and properly scolded her tongue. Irony worked in wonderous ways.


	2. Meet Mr Hyde

Thank you for all the kind reviews! I'm loving it! This chapter actually makes me a bit nervous, so I hope you enjoy it. It took a while to straighten out all of its kinks. :)

**Edit: **I made a few corrections, just to make it a little smoother.

**Disclaimer: **I owe nothing that could get me sued

**Reminder**: This is in Season 1. Quinn's kind of crazy.

* * *

><p>"Buenos dias clase!" Quinn watched irritably as Mr. Schue broke through the room with an ungodly amount of enthusiasm. Crossing the floor in a flurry of hand gestures, he didn't wait for his sentiment to be returned, already moving full steam ahead into Spanish things- Quinn really doesn't know, she doesn't really listen. There was a reason for that, other than the fact that her father doesn't mind a lowered attention in the part of her studies he doesn't care for. The other reason had a voice of her own and raised it now, already delving into the perfect pronunciation of the only available class McKinley had to offer in foreign studies.<p>

She heard Santana's scoff from behind her before the sound of her nails clicking against her keypad filled the air. Quinn muffled her sigh against her hand, rolling her eyes when her phone buzzed, moving it swiftly into her lap. Normally she wouldn't have to hide using her phone in class, since not even the faculty members had the nerve to speak up to one of Coach Sylvester's uniformed girls - but Mr. Schue's class was the one she had with Rachel, and _she_ might actually get her in trouble.

She should probably find this irritating; at one point, she convinced herself that she did. She searched for these little faults a while ago, back when she thought she could convince herself of anything. Rachel was annoying, she abides by every school rule and made sure everyone else did too. She had once tried to convince herself of her ugliness, that she would surely make a deficient partner and only bring her irritation should she hope to pursue her.

But still, her heart fluttered at the very thought of pursuing her, as though these may be positive traits; nonetheless, she found out that she was utterly impossible to convince herself of anything, especially when it concerned Rachel. She was stuck with this crush, and Rachel was stuck with it too.

With a quick clear of her throat, she tried to restart herself, staring into the rude and idiotic words of Santana's text. _Do you think Berry would scream in English or in Spanish during climax?_

Quinn gasped and flushed, frantically trying to disband the flood of images in her head. Santana chuckles and she turned around and shot Santana a withering glare. Which backfires when she takes notice of her obviously guilty eyes and flushed cheeks. Inwardly, she withered, but she fought back the desire to retort something back. Her fingers twitched, flexing over the keyboard but she managed to swallow it all down. Stiffly, she placed the phone back onto the desk, ignoring Santana's chuckle.

With hard eyes, she watched Mr. Schue babble on about Spanish - or History, it could have been either one, really. But really, Santana's comment had struck a chord with her. She hasn't really gotten anywhere with Rachel, as of yet.

It was frustrating, Dara was supposed to be her 'Mr. Hyde' - without the witchcraft and switching different minds of course - but she would get the girl, the bad reputation, and the the blame if things went straight to hell.

But she can't even speed up her process, since Santana apparently has gained some authority over her life and now directs her every plan, she hardly gets a say on what she does anymore. Quinn's sighs and tenderly kneaded the tight muscles in her neck, blinking in surprise when a blue sketch of Rachel stared back at her. With a yelp, she hastily ripped the paper out and crumbled it into her backpack.

It wasn't particularly loud, but since life loved its uncanny sense of humor, something that would normally go over everyone's heads suddenly becomes a loud gunshot that everyone turned to. Even Mr. Schuester paused in his endless speech about proverbs to send Quinn a curious glance.

"Shit." Quinn murmured quietly as she sank lowly in her chair, her hands acting as poorly constructed shields to obstruct the vision of the people around her. God forbid anyone see Quinn Fabray blush, she may look human for once. It worked well enough until she caught Rachel's curious gaze.

The insult runs dry on her tongue as Rachel's curious eyes moves from her face to the slumped backpack by her side. Shifting uneasily, she pushed the backpack beneath her desk and tried to scare her off with a hardened glare. But Rachel only looked at her, unimpressed.

Mr. Schuester sent her a happy grin and returned to blabbering on about things no one cared about. She tried to focus on something that wasn't the girl in front of her, or the girl that would appear on her lined paper if given some mental leeway. Quinn mentally sighed in relief when she heard Santana's fingernails clacking against her phone, giving her just enough time to edge the phone into her lap before it erupted in a series of buzzing. Underneath the desk, Quinn squinted to read the black letters more clearly. It was literally a poke in the eye.

_You know, I never noticed what you were doodling all those times you wrote in your little notebook. By now you must have a small flip book! That must be useful, having a small handwritten porno at hand._

Quinn stared at her phone darkly. The urge to slap Santana across the face was becoming overwhelming. The only thing that stopped her from whirling around and tackling the smirking Latina was the fact that underneath her drowning embarrassment, it was sort of true.

She had hundreds of papers all dedicated to the shape and form of one Rachel Berry.

With a low huff, that sounded more like a growl, Quinn typed up a response_. I can claim temporary insanity and get out jail for killing you._

Santana's answering chuckle was like the bubbling of boiling water.

_Have you given Dara a last name_?

Quinn let out a quiet breath and shifted the phone closer to her eyes now that it was clear there would be no offending context. She did have a name picked out - it was the only freedom she got in the terms of their agreement.

_Carton. Get it? Like Sydney Carton from the 'Tale of Two Cities'._

Quinn, honestly, always had a soft spot for Charles Dickens. But Santana did not.

_What. The. Fuck._

Quinn purses her lips and blows out an unimpressed breath. Rachel would've understand the refrence.

Quinn rolls her eyes and fiddles with the phone in her lap, contemplating her next move. No matter what Santana believes, Carton still was perfect. She connected to him, just as she connected with Darney. She's standing on two different worlds, with each foot on either side of the door.

Quinn shifts the phone back on to her lap, a defense coming to the tips of her fingers. _What? It's perfect. Sydney Carton is the messier look-a-like to Charles Darney - who was the perfect gentleman. Carton was a little wilder and mild tempered and Darney was a good Christan. Tell me San, do you find any similarities?_

She pressed her thumb with an aire of finality - waiting impatiently for Santana's phone to buzz. Quinn's patience lasted three more seconds before a sharp pain exploded at the back of her head, edging sparkling golden stars underneath her eyelids. She gasps - a sound of pain and surprise, and it's everything Santana was looking for in that small yelp from the HBIC.

The Spanish book - Santana's chosen weapon - clatters loudly to the floor beside her and snags Quinn's attention. With a quick glance at the weapon, Quinn whirls around to the Latina, scowling when the returning gaze was just as fierce. Santana smiled with the mocking lips of a hyena.

"Girls? Is there a problem?" Mr. Schuster's cautious voice broke the silence and inserted a pause long enough for everyone's eyes to turn and stare at them. Santana's smirk grew and Quinn felt her eyes narrow. There was a calm and cool sensation that prickled underneath her skin as everyone's eyes tuned into the situation unraveling between them.

Quinn was never fond of large spectacles or dramatic scenes – but she was able to collect herself enough to turn and face her teacher with a calm plastered expression.

"Of course not, Mr. Schue." Quinn returned with a sweet smile. "I was just helping Santana relearn the basic conjugations you taught yesterday. She has such a forgetful mind." Mr. Schuester nodded in understanding and smiled for them to continue, another testament to the oblivious and spineless creatures within Lima, Ohio.

Quinn was about to pounce when her eyes caught the slightest movement. Rachel was staring at her, a look of puzzlement on her face. Her dark eyes flicker across Quinn's face and without intending to, she feels hersle sink back into the base of her chair. Her brown eyes swirl, the challenge of breaking ebbing between them and sending warnings signs down Quinn's spine. But she can't break it this time.

Her cheeks heat up. Rachel raises a dark eyebrow, her lips quirking into a small curious smile. And for a moment, Quinn considers returning it. But Quinn Fabray is a hard position to fill - entailing rude insults and wavering morals. And Rachel Berry is the small, cute lamb left for the slaughter. At least, in Quinn Fabray's world.

It's a hard part to play, but with a second to spare, Quinn Fabray was all but reformed. Before Rachel could even blink, Quinn Fabray had yanked her leash and shaped back into ferocious, snarling lion with bared teeth.

"What are you looking at, Rupaul?" Quinn snarls and Rachel's eyes widen. "How about you keep try to keep it in your wet dreams, freak." Ignoring the blatant hypocrisy of her words, Quinn managed to force that out without breaking, watching as Rachel only rolls her eyes and turns back to the front. She swiftly clicks her pen and scribbles down more notes, not even a beat of hesitation.

Santana is staring at her, but she doesn't look back. She remains silent for the rest of class, trying to keep her attention on the squeaky pen marks Mr. Schuester drawled out on the board.

When the bell rings and officially dismissed class, Quinn collected her books, forcing herself not to watch Rachel as she left. Quinn always prided herself on having an iron will - being the only Cheerio that can survive Coach Sylvester's boot camp every other week. But this was a different type of endurance, and she didn't have very much of it.

She supressed a sigh when her eyes follow the shiny black heels of Rachel's Mary Janes, watching as they clip briskly from across the room and out of door. Santana rose from her seat and slyly returned to Quinn's side, watching silently as students quickly file past them, jostling their shoulders together and shuffling through the door.

Quinn watched with a stone-hard expression, ignoring her friend's existence beside her for a moment too long, allowing the slow spark of devilish intent come to a boil in her friend's stomach.

"So, just to clear this up." Santana's voice carried a small hint of pestering to it and it made Quinn instantly on edge. "You do plan on getting that sex change, right?" Santana remarked casually, making Quinn balk and capture the few lingering student's ears with her painful barb.

"Because, really, what other option could you have with a name like Carton?" Santana leveled her eyes onto Quinn's, slanting into challenging slits.

It was a warning, a taste of dominance, and a reminder that came loaded into the casual husk of Santana's voice, coiling Quinn into an impossibe position. Her heart dropped into a panicked flutter, hearing the quiet sound of confusion ghost across the nearly empty room, eyes flickering to her in question as they waited for the shoe to drop.

Even Mr. Schuester was pulled into their complicated socail web, having accidently dropped his eraser, delving himself into the jaded circle of forces within McKinely. His attention diverted from his ever-diligent task of erasing his board.

Santana was loyal, but only when Quinn was the weaker one, and though she hates the change of dominance, she didn't have anything to pull herself higher. Santana had her caught.

With a hissing breath, she narrowed her eyes and fiercely forced out an excuse, "I'm sorry Mr. Schuester, my friend appears to be highly delusional or suffering from a brain tumor. I'll be sure to take her to the nurse immediately." Quinn spit out angrily, firmly grasping the Latina's elbow and directing her out of class. She made sure to dig her fingernails into Santana's arms hard enough to leave marks, hopefully something that would last until the next day.

But she couldn't get Santana out fast enough, "Quinn should know. She is quite the expert when it comes to excessive and unusual growths." Santana's voice caught the attention of a few more students, all in which turned around to eye the pair incredulously, marking their names onto Quinn's black list.

Quinn breathed out an angry expletive, dragging her friend from the room. Her angry breaths come out as barbed promises to kill Santana whenever her schedule allowed it. Mr. Schuester watched them leave with a mixture of confusion and amusement riddling in his hazy green eyes, a small smile on his puppy dog face.

He cocked his head, as if he understood his association with furry mongrels.

As they walked down the hall, Quinn thought, sometimes, she really just hates Santana.

* * *

><p>"Alright guys, I think we got a lot done today. Be proud of yourselves!" Mr. Schuester clapped excitably as the New Directions started picking up their bags and leaving the room. Rachel lingered near the doorway, waiting patiently for everyone to leave – which was an action not unseen by Kurt and Mercedes, who coupled into smaller groups and exchanged whispers hidden behind their hands.<p>

When all of the members left, Mr. Schuester noticed Rachel waiting patiently near the door and abruptly faltered from moving any closer to the exit to suddenly retire into his office. Rachel nibbled on her lip as she glanced through the side window. She could only see the back of his curly head before he ducked out again. So with a sigh, she indulged in a stalling tactic, gathering up her sheet music piles and reviewing them again. She very rarely missed any marks the first time, but it managed to buy her some time. That is, until she was forced to acknowledge hat Mr. Schuester would not be returning.

With a sigh, Rachel picked up her bag and turned to leave. In contrast to what Mr. Schuester had said, the New Directions had _not_ been productive today - nor have they been for the past few weeks. Sectionals was in four months and Mr. Schuester is ignorantly convinced that four months is a reasonable amount of time to generate a perfect list of songs, more members, and a perfectly memorized dance routine.

Four months is a blink of an eye for a well-equipped and trained show choir, and the New Directions was neither. It wasn't even large enough to qualify for competitions, and even if they somehow found a way to lure a few more students into their rag-tag team, the likelihood of winning was close to zero.

What Mr. Schuester needed was help - her help specifically. Rachel knows she can be selfish, loud, and a little abrasive at times, but what she knows more than anything else is that she is loyal - when she loves something, she gives it everything.

Rachel - while in the midst of a thought - turned the corner and lost her breath, colliding with a hard body and falling to floor. The person made a soft 'ompfh' sound, but was otherwise unharmed. Unlike Rachel, who fell as though she were a rag doll.

"Watch it Berry, we don't all have man hips to keep us grounded." The tense growl of Quinn Fabray cut angrily through the air and Rachel winced. With another soft sigh, she retrieved her fallen possessions and gathered them into her hands.

Quinn's white tennis shoes shifted in the corner of her eye and moved almost restlessly as she gathered her things. She couldn't imagine feeling restless after being a participant of Ms. Sylvester's training, something that could easily be considered torture to the local police department, but for some reason, no body reported.

Straightening up, Rachel met Quinn's eyes calmly and perfected the forged smile on her face.

"Good evening Quinn, I hadn't realized anyone would still be at school at this time. Although, now that I think about it, and taking in your Cheerio's uniform, it would make sense that you were still at school since, if I recall correctly, Cheerio's practice is every morning and afternoon." Rachel finished with a smile and tilt of her head. She expected an insult or at least a degrading roll of her eyes, but she got neither. Quinn just stared at her with an odd expression marring her face.

An uneasy silence erupted between them, riding in tension-filled waves. Unfortunately, silence wasn't something Rachel was entirely comfortable with, so with the chance of being bitten, she played with the beast.

"I wouldn't know personally, but I understand Cheerio's practice is...well, a rather arduous workout. I never understood the desire to submit oneself to that type of physical abuse, but I suppose being a Cheerio does have its share of glamour. Although I'm not sure the chance of popularity would be persuasive enough to convince the most stable minded people into stepping any closer to Ms. Sylvester than one may already have to."

Rachel realized she was rambling without direction and swallowed her words down quietly, dropping her eyes from the swirling intensity of Quinn's hazel gaze.

Surprisingly, Quinn didn't have an insult in her back pocket to toss out. She didn't even appear disgusted or annoyed – which was the usual response to Rachel's rants.

In fact, she only muttered a tense "Whatever Berry" and readjusted the strap on her shoulder. Rachel's eyebrows raised. Quinn was acting peculiar, and though Rachel would never claim to understand Quinn, it almost seemed as though she was nervous.

Quinn's white tennis shoes were tilting to side and her fingers twitched at her side, moving with a nervous buzz of energy. Rachel appraised the cheerleader again, feeling suddenly concerned for her. And it was then that she finally took notice to the extra duffel bag. She was holding two. One was marked with the usual trademark stitching of William McKinley, while the other, slung on her shoulder, was completely clear of any significant marks; it swayed ominously at her side as Quinn became more uncomfortable.

But Rachel wasn't able to ask what it was for, because once Quinn noticed Rachel's stare, the cheerleader snapped back into order, baring a fine row of white teeth.

"What are you looking at Berry? Don't you have a Streisand worship club to get to?" Quinn growled lowly and Rachel raised her eyebrows; a jab on her adoration for her idol was hardly an insult, it was flat and they both knew it. But Quinn's dark challenging eyes kept Rachel's mouth shut anyway.

Rachel merely nodded and released a small departing smile. "Have a nice day, Quinn." Rachel said and left Quinn standing in the hallway – in what she hoped would be a very dramatic walk out – and stepped into the nearly vacant parking lot.

She actually did have an engagement to get to – none in which would be contributing to her love for Barbra Streisand. That would be every other Tuesday. No, instead, she was compromising her time to completing an ever-growing grocery list.

Since her fathers have recently admitted to their gluttonous habits, they now freely asked their only daughter to replenish the sweets in the Berry household and fill their teeth with cavities. Normally, Rachel would already be in the process of finishing her PowerPoint to present and strain the importance of a healthy diet; however, in due to recent events, she can't help but feel excited to step into the heart of Lima Heights Adjacent.

By the time Rachel reached the Supermarket, her head was swarming with possibilities. She knew her subconscious was getting out of hand, but she couldn't seem to reel it in. That's just how her mind worked, if it found something interesting, it threw itself into it. Some may call it crazy, but she called it passionate.

When she got out of the car, however, the only thing visible was the barking man known as Patches as he sniffed at the ground.

But no pink-haired stranger was in sight. Swallowing down the disappointment was harder than Rachel would like to admit, but it went down with some cushioned thinking, making it out in her head that it was better this way. Who needs friends anyway?

She successfully convinced herself until about halfway through the store when everything back crashed down. The bag of crunchy delicious Veggie Chips stared down at her from the shelf, completely out of reach. It was making a joke out of her and she was nearly sure that the cartoon tomato was making faces at her.

Rachel huffed again and rocked back on her tipsy toes, just barely grazing the bag before her fingers hit their reaching capacity. The loud groan that came out of her was filled with resentment, streaming loudly from the brunette's mouth.

She didn't even _want_ the processed vegetables anymore, but it wasn't like she could leave without them now. No, that ship has long since sailed and now, it had become a matter of pride. She wasn't about to be mocked by a bag of processed vegetables, so with another groan, she reached out for it again.

But she faltered. She was touching something now, but it defintely wasn't the Veggie Chips. A vein pulsed just underneath the skin, a flutter of a heartbeat pressing beneath her fingertips and Rachel yelped.

Jumping back, Rachel swirled around to the person occupying space beside her, tracking her eyes up the arm and back to its owner, watching as it disappeared beneath a raggedly cut sleeve.

A slow smirk curled on the woman's lips, and Rachel's jaw dropped. Yes, the woman was _far_ more intimidating up close.

"Having some trouble, are we?" The woman's voice sounded remotely familiar and it fluttered through her mind like an exotic bird, flashing with vibrant color and intensity. The woman's moist red lips curled into another well-preformed smirk.

Faintly, a warm musky perfume drifted from her skin and fogged Rachel's brain.

Or at least, that was her excuse. She had apparently lost all sense of humility and was now staring blankly at the woman's face. But she did appreciate the time to regard her, having given a chance to see her up close, she really was beautiful. In every sense of the word too: she had high cheekbones and pale skin, her nose was delicate and thin, and her cheekbones swept down to a small chin that made her face almost appear heart-shaped.

It was familiar, but she couldn't place a name to it.

When the woman raised her eyebrow, Rachel realized that she could still feel embarrassed and found words on her tongue. "Yes! Yes, I was." Rachel inwardly winced. "Thanks." Rachel said quietly, a small smile forming. She added shyly, "The shelves are too high."

The woman's eyebrows raised, a look of amusement darting across her face. "Yes, I'm sure that's it." The sarcasm was lost on Rachel, who nodded enthusiastically, a beaming smile in place.

"You know, it's funny. I just recently wrote a letter to the administration about this." Her eyebrows folded. "Well...several. But they must have gotten lost in the mail, which they should really think about fixing because, was I not so determined, I would have undoubtedly lost my loyalty as a Supermarket shopper."

When Rachel looked up at the woman's face, and her smile faltered, watching as the woman's expression turned into something oddly familiar. Rachel retrained her smile and hoped her company wouldn't turn cruel. "What is it?"

The woman shakes her head with a barely conceived smile, "Oh, it's nothing," Her voice rings clearly in the silence, but even a deaf man could pick out the obvious strain in her voice - an attempt to remain neutral, Rachel guesses.

Rachel's eyes narrow and silently, she probes for the the woman to continue.

The woman laughs softly and part her lips into a small smirk. "Well. To be honest, the shelves aren't that high up. I don't believe your situation is a very _common_ difficulty." The woman's voice holds no strain this time, and it becomes a sound that makes Rachel come to a quick and deadly understanding.

Rachel's pride was a force to be reckoned with and very few had the backbone to cope with it.

"Yes, well, I was only a few inches away so I'm pretty sure I could have handled it well enough on my own." Rachel huffed and made a hasty grab for the bag in the woman's hand, only quickly come to the embarrassing conclusion that she was still too short to reach it.

The Veggie Chips and the woman seemed to chuckle in unison and Rachel shot a withering glare to her more livelier oppressor. The woman gave her a cheeky smile. She could tell this was going to come back to her in the most unfortunate ways, but even knowing this, she couldn't help the flare of dignity in her chest, making her stand a little taller.

She crossed her arms over her chest, a trademark reaction that was a clear harbinger to eternal doom should any of the teasing continue, which was apparently an omen the girl decided to toss aside.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want this?" The woman smirked with a hint of playfulness, her tongue peeking out between her pearly white teeth. She shook the small bag teasingly, her fingers flexing into the crinkling plastic. "Well, this is a little awkward." The woman casts an enchanting smile at Rachel, who only pushed away the spell with a purse of her lips.

She waited for more, but no other words followed; instead, a look of uncertainty marred the woman's expression as she took a quick gander at the object in her hand. A look of startled disgust quickly adorned her features. "Veggie...Chips?"

Rachel bit her lip and looked away. She took pride in her healthy choices, but it often alienated her within her age group.

Rachel cleared her throat and tried to convincingly meet the stranger's eyes. "Yes, well, I believe nutrients is a very important factor in ones everyday life. And as grotesque as it may appear, it is a far healthier choice than the processed potatoes drowning in salt in the next aisle over."

Rachel watched cautiously as the woman seemed to consider her words, raising her head to peer over at the other aisle, over at the depicted salty potatos. Then, just as quietly, she reviewed the contents of the bag with a perked interest.

Rachel knew she lost the woman's support in the midst of her reading, watching silently as the tip of the woman's nose crinkled.

The woman shook her head with evident disgust. "Yeah, these are probably going to result in cancer." Rachel huffed, but apparently the woman wasn't finished. Her white teeth glimmer as she looks back up at the burnette. "I'm starting to think you only got these 'cause you're afraid you can't reach the drowning potatoes over there." The woman smirks playfully, and Rachel's mouth dropped in indignation.

She hums again, her dark glasses glinting. "I guess it's a good thing I came here when I did. Any longer and I fear someone may have mistaken you for one of those plastic dolls they're hanging up near the Haymark cards."

Rachel's mouth moves up and down, but no other words escape. Her eyes slant into narrowed slits, regarding this woman coldly as she strains her eyes to see past the the dark sunglasses. But she could only look away when an almost camouflaged severity peirced through the stranger's gaze, right beneath the clouded glass.

She was used to teasing - or in better terms, bullying - but she couldn't quite place what kind of treatment this was. It wasn't nearly as demeaning as the usual remarks she got from her peers, especially in comparison with the hellion that was Quinn Fabray. And in a way, there was a sort of charm in the way the woman was acting - although that may have very well only stemmed from the fact that the woman lacks any malice in her voice, which had come to be a sort of standard for the rest of Lima, apparently.

Rachel released her musings with a clinical shake of her head, "While normally I would say that I appreciate your help, considering the fact that the bag of Veggie Chips is _still_ out of my hands, I really wouldn't know what I was appreciating." Rachel huffs, but continues with the same breath. "And again, I feel the need to stress the matter that while I am shorter, I am perfectly capable in getting things for myself."

Rachel was about to say more, but was interupted by the woman's low chuckle - a short cadence of laughter that sounded more like purring than anything else. It flushs Rachel's cheeks with a warm reddening blush.

"Well, alright." The woman said with a lazy grin.

She had a certain strangeness to her; but as she leaned against the shelves, one could only admire the lazy danger in the woman's stature, as if she was a sleek black leopard coming down to hunt. Rachel swallows softly and watches helplessly as the woman lightly tossed the bag of chips into her long forgotten cart.

"I guess you'll just have to prove yourself, then." When Rachel only puckered her eyebrows, the pink-haired girl made a circular motion with her hand and gestured towards Rachel's list with a teasing smile on her lips.

Rachel's puzzled expression quickly steeled into one of firm understanding, her jaw tightening and her eyes glimmering with resolution, her pride running away with her again.

"Fine." Her voice was clipped with underlying doubt, but she refused to show it anywhere else. The woman smirks as she watches Rachel bring the list up close to her face in an attempt to keep the woman from peeking over her shoulder, reviewing her list in utmost secrecy. The woman tried to conceal her growing smile.

After a quick review, Rachel visibly stiffens and purses her lips. It would seem that her fathers will be recieving that dietary PowerPoint after all. Mostly for revenge, but a part of her was really concerned. How could two grown men still want a stash of Twinkies in their house? And the list just continues.

When the woman softly clears her throat, Rachel just grumbled, sparing another glance in the woman's direction before folding the list again. "Well, the next product is Soy Cheese, and if you feel so inclined, you may come along. However, I can assure you that your help will not be needed." Rachel said with a hint of defiance, raising her chin and nodding curtly. When the woman's response was a slow smirk, she briskly turned down the hall walked toward another aisle, faltering only when that soft purring laughter sounded off again, trailing behind her like a lion's tail.

They must have looked like an odd pair - a girl with argyle and another with punk attire, walking close together through a populated store. Every pair of eyes turned to watch them leave, following them as if they had secured fishing hooks into their backs and were now physically attached.

Rachel secretly relished in the attention. It felt as though she was in the crowded halls of her school, only without the negative scrutiny, they were like Finn Hudson and Quinn Fabray - the King and Queens of McKinley. It was only a moment later when Rachel blushed deeply from her internalized thoughts. What an odd comparison, she should probably stop thinking altogether.

A moment later, she reached the frozen section and stopped in the face of the glass refrigerator doors. From the corner of her eyes, she watches the pink-haired girl swiftly slide the door open and rest her body against the provided support. The cool air washed over her face in calm, undulating waves, bringing her eyes to the impossibly high Soy Cheese.

God really did enjoy a rather unique sense of humor. Rachel stalled for only a few moments longer, glaring up at the Soy Cheese with an unbidden hatred. But when the woman poked her softly in the side, Rachel huffed and sent the smirking girl a glare for good measure before rocking onto her tiptoes and reaching with all her might.

The outcome couldn't have been more embarrassing. Her fingers ghosted past the shelf two ranks beneath the item, hitting only the dairy ice cream that seemed to shy away from her touch as well. Rachel groaned loudly and let her forehead bump onto the glass to verbalize her most unfortunate defeat. Her pride was now a tattered, limping mess, and by the looks of her list, it would have to suffer at least ten more hits. Rachel frowned petulantly when a soft, deep chuckle drifted into the range of her sensitive hearing.

The brunette was about to whirl around and tell the woman when a firm body pressed into hers. She gasped, a low flutter forming in her stomach. The woman's hips gently pressed into her and pushed her forward. She moved with her as the woman's pale hand rose up towards the cheese, her warm skin pressing into her own.

Rachel – still fighting her blush – let out a soft breath, feeling a little better when the woman's hand stopped just a row above hers; apparently, even she was unable to reach the cheese. Rachel would have loved to gloat, but the returning response wasn't nearly as satisfying as she would have hoped; rather than huffing and admitting defeat, the woman merely pushed herself closer, lifting on her her tip-toes.

Her slender fingers catch the prize, and Rachel could only simmer like burning sugar as the woman nearly purred with triumph. Her victory brought the Cheshire cat to life, repossessing Lewis Caroles' fictional character into human form. As the woman smirked, Rachel momentarily wondered if her teeth naturally glimmered like that, or if they were artificial, and she was actually toothless. She secretly hopes it to be the latter - it would make her defeat a little less bitter about her whole defeat.

But the woman wouldn't stop smirking, so Rachel had to relinquish her pride once again. And found very quickly, that she couldn't. With a huff, Rachel stubbornly crosses her arms. "Yes. Well, I'll have you know that I am wearing flats and that you are wearing those...those stupid boots."

The woman looks surprised for a moment, her eyebrows rising in question before she sent her boots a supine look, inspecting them lazily. A moment later, she looked back up and cocked her head to the side, a smile already playing on her lips. "And you have some weird animal on your sweater, but I'm not complaining."

Rachel gasped. "It's an armadillo!"

The woman laughs warmly and shakes her head, "Of course it is." The woman's voice sounded odd in those four little words, feeling eerily warm and intimate as they whisper past her lips, aided by warm laughter. Rachel pauses, feeling her anger deflate inside her. She bites her lip and stares with a hint of uncertainty at the anonymous eyes behind the sunglasses.

When the woman's smile didn't curl into a snarl, it began to feel as though she was enjoying Rachel's company. It was a new unpracticed theory and Rachel found herself wanting to test it, or more selfishly, extend it. The small fluxation of excitement returned to the pit of her stomach.

As verbose as she was, however, she was uncertain on how to strike up a conversation between them that didn't involve rude or prideful remarks. And if she could manage to find a subject worth exploring in conversation, how does one bring it up without being too abrupt? She wasn't exactly gifted in the ability of subtlety.

It also didn't help matters when Rachel couldn't even make proper eye contact. She never realized just how much she relied on the implicit communication to develop her conversation - without it, she was verbally crippled. For a moment, Rachel hesitated, opening her mouth slowly before closing it again.

The movement was not lost on her company, and with an expectant eyebrow, the girl lured the words from Rachel's mouth, "I don't mean to startle you, but may I suggest that you take your sunglasses off? They are rather distracting. Not that they are not lovely," Rachel quickly amended, "but I tend to usually make direct eye contact with whomever I am speaking to, and due to the glasses, I feel as though I am at slight disadvantage."

Rachel smiles and quickly cleares the slight nervousness gathering in her throat with a hasty swallow. It only spreads, now prickling across her skin like little bugs with cold feet.

The woman raises both of her eyebrows – and for just a moment, her lips form into one of the few ways lips may appear intimidating. Perhaps she shouldn't have said anything at all – especially now that the girl is looking at her like a cat may look at a mouse before it ends its game. The moment became startling still, and for a moment, Rachel feels time nearly pause between them.

It's a wonder how many seconds passes in these moments of timelessness, but the moment passes and seemingly no time had passed at all, because Rachel releases the same breath she was holding, and the woman takes her first step foreword – her face istill masked into one of carnal amusement. Rachel stiffens when the girl slides off the glass door and swiftly walks closer to her.

The girl's pale, slender hands slide into her pant pockets, the metal beads glinting as her thumbs hang out freely from the pockets. The woman walks with the grace of a lion, moving with a sensual sway to her hips, prowling with the impression of free will and recklessness; she moved as though the world was crumbling beneath her, and she hadn't a care for it at all.

Rachel's eyes momentarily flicker to the woman's well toned arms, watching with hidden admiration as the woman's muscles become more defined. The woman hums softly when she reaches her chosen spot near Rachel; her slim arms hang out of her pockets as her thumbs idly play with the metal chains hanging from her ragged waistband.

In a soft, husky voice, the woman speaks in a low deliberate voice, "Are you saying that I make you nervous?" The woman's voice is teasing and warm, her lips curling around her words into a more familiar smirk.

Rachel blinks at the question and looks back at the woman with a nervous smile, struggling to imperceptivity swallow down the qualms in her throat. Her smile is an illusion, because while it's meant to contribute something and placate her company, her eyes are searching and probing the dark veil of the woman's tinted sunglasses, looking for a hint in her eyes again. But try as she may, she can only see the light flutter of eyelashes and a sliver of a dark iris. Nothing more.

Does she make her nervous? Sure, the woman gives her a few minor failed palpitations in her heart, and perhaps a few flustered moments in her speech – but over all, she enjoys the girl's company - especially since most people tend push her into things, like closets, lockers and empty classrooms. She used to think it was just because she wore suspenders to school, but when those accessories were left at home, it became clear it was something else.

But even that is not as bad as when they actively ignore her. A bad reputation is better than being invisible.

There was a small flash of yearning that warmed up in Rachel's chest. It altered her voice and cast herself into an almost unreal shyness. "Well, I'm not one to be nervous." Rachel says quietly, "But you're defintely not boring."

Rachel is not nearly delusional enough to believe that she was playfully, but the woman smirked and Rachel was internally giddy at her achievement.

Before either one of them could speak again, a soft buzzing of the overhead speaker cut through the Supermarket. Rachel snapped upright and tipped her head to properly hear the rest of the intercom message, the words 'vegan butter' wiggling into her consciousness. She ignored the startled expression of her pink-haired company.

_"- Butter your toast now with some good Earth Balance buttery spread! Now located on aisle 3 for a limited amount of time! Leave your spray cans and get a good taste of vegan butter."_

The message ended in a long, detached beep. Rachel smiled brilliantly and turned to share her excitement with her pink-haired company. Lima wasn't a very vegan friendly location, especially since they reside in a more rural part of Ohio, or also known as the 'cow hick' town, so being graced with vegan choices for butter is a gift by divine intervention.

The woman regards her coolly. "Your eyes look fucking crazy." Rachel rolls her eyes, but her smile never leaves her face. The woman smirks. "Nah, I totally get it. Fake butter is total turn on for me, too. _Totally_ gets me hot." The girl said, deliberately dragging out her sentence into a mocking cadence.

Rachel blanched, her blush darkening as she struggled for a few more seconds to form words on her tongue. The woman seems to be taking pleasure with the speechless expression on Rachel's face, but since words were never one to evade Rachel, she found her rant tangled up in her mouth.

"I-I'll have you know that Earth Balance happens to be a very delicious alternative to margarine o-or cooking oil and I haven't had it in a while. Do you know how many recipes use butter? It's nearly impossible to come up with a simple recipe for food that everyone can love at the dinner table without diverging into complete vegan tatics. I mean, I have been forced to use Applesauce for a substitution before, and I must say , athough the food is never a complete disaster, its definetly not a satisfactory product."

Rachel takes a much-needed breath, her mouth snapping shut as the surprised pink-haired blinks. A blush finds itself on Rachel's neck and cheeks as they fall into a short lapse of silence.

That is, until Rachel – with a new blush layering her cheeks – pulls up another remnant of her scattered thoughts, something that absently formed into words on her tongue.

"Also…this may come out callously, but, as I heard, Earth Balance butter is on aisle three..." A small pause and a much needed breath. "And if my memory serves me correctly, is the section where all the shelves seem abnormally higher than the rest..." Rachel drifts off again, nearly feeling the amusement come off the woman in waves. "Well...I suppose I was wondering…" Rachel drifted off, her speech falls into nothingness.

The intention of Rachel's thoughts had not gone unnoticed, perking up the woman's interest as she cocked her head to the side with a scandalized smile on her lips.

Her voice is a breathy tease,"What's that?" She purrs out; a self-satisfied smirk on her lips.

While curiosity may have killed the cat, the woman seems not at all precautious in the matter of curiosity, and instead, leaned down to inspect the matter of Rachel's prideful silence with satisfaction. Rachel narrows her eyes and lifts her chin, inflicting another unspoken challenge upon the woman and spinning another mouse for the cat to chase.

The woman instantly smirks in delight, ready to play the game. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I didn't hear you from all the way up here. You're gonna have to speak up." Rachel huffs and glares hotly up at the woman.

It's silly really. It's just asking for help. Naturally, she must have asked for help at some point in her life – although, the memory was surely lost due to the blurry haze of her childhood. But her personality was not built to waver, despite her physic halting just beneath her expectations.

And it hardly helps matters when the woman is the near-mirrored reflection of the cat who ate the canary; her white teeth are glimmering and her lips curl into something that cannot possibly be considered a human expression. She practically embodies the cat's literary symbol; and being such a conniving creature already, it's hard not to picture those eyes underneath her sunglasses to be small narrowed cat eyes.

But the urgency of needing the vegan butter was at hand, and for once, something went beyond Rachel's pride.

"Fine. I…" Rachel sighs and closes her eyes, wrestling with dignity. "It is clear that I am at a slight disadvantage, and since I believe it would not be in my good fortune if I were to ever attempt retrieving the Earth Balance myself – or any product that does not abide to my height standards – the situation, unfortunately, calls for me to appeal for assistance. Yours, to be precise." The words came out of her mouth barbed with broken pride, but she managed to push them out without even a shadow of bitterness.

The woman smirked, a quick display of shiny teeth and pink skin before her arm slinked across Rachel's shoulders and pulled her closer. Rachel blushed as the flush of the woman's warm skin pressed firmly against hers. "Well, since you begged." Rachel huffed and the woman's smirk broadened, tugging on her lips as if it were alive.

She hummed quietly, "Are you usually so prideful, or is it only me you reveal such riveting qualities to?" Rachel huffed again, although it was a little quieter than before, whistling from between her teeth as a small blush flooded her cheeks.

"It's okay, it's kind of cute. Or, it would be, if, you know, I were a valley girl who used terminology like 'adorables' and 'fluffy' to describe people." The girl smirked and Rachel felt her cheeks heating up, her heart skipping a beat or two as the heat of their proximity was exchanged.

"R-Right." Rachel answered softly, blushing again when she sneaked a small glance to the woman beside her. The woman's mouth was a mysterious thing, it seemed to curl in indescribable ways, either forming a smug cat-like smirk or capturing an incommunicable amount of emotion – all in which bordered on the line of friendliness.

It was still exciting, that someone may actually go out of their way to be friends with her – without misguided opinions or ulterior motives leading their way. And as the woman pulled her closer and smiled happily, Rachel almost felt like laughing, the warmth and giddiness of their interaction making her lightheaded with implications.

The woman directs them towards another hallway as she leisurely pressed her arm into Rachel's skin – and although this action was entirely absentminded, it was in this warm friendliness that Rachel jolted in a realization, flooding her mind with the enrapturing fact that she hadn't an idea what the woman's real name might be.

It came to her in such a sudden jolt that the woman next to shot her a puzzled glance from the abrupt movement, watching her through the dark tint of her sunglasses. Rachel's lips formed a small self-depreciating smile before she subtly moved closer again to regain the warmth of the woman's arm.

They walked down the aisle, the nameless pink-haired girl absently touching tags and protruding stands. Rachel squirmed and let the time slip by, mentally roving over how the question should be breached. Normally, it shouldn't be such a difficult decision, but considering her attempts to confront others from the second grade and onward, she felt reasonably hesitant to move any quicker than a careful snail-like pace.

She walked on, moving only by the workings of her mechanical joints – she only noticed their whereabouts when the woman suddenly slipped away and casually walked up to the shelf.

She reached for the refrigerated vegan butter, rising onto her tiptoes, showing the dusted leather and hard grip of her combat boots. Rachel watched dazedly as the woman smirked victoriously and came padding back to her like a haughty dog, presenting the product as if it were a prize she had won and was worth screening.

Rachel could only stare at it blankly, mentally fingering around the hungry question in her mind. She could do one of two things. She could accept the product and go on her way, returning to what she had meant to achieve today – then go about making that PowerPoint of dietary fiber.

Or she could spin a web of lies and string the woman along in hopes of gaining an acquaintance.

When Rachel looked back up, the woman was already smirking, as though Rachel's thoughts were cast from her mind and exposed for the whole world to see. That smirk pushed an invisible button inside Rachel, and suddenly, her words were coming out of her mouth like water, flowing without any shape or structure.

"I have more items to retrieve, you know. An entire list, actually." She trailed off hopefully, inclining her head upward. She hoped she doesn't look like the small dog Santana often refers her as.

The woman mimicked her, a parroting tilt to the head as she smirked. Maybe she was easier to read than Rachel previously thought, because the woman appeared to be waiting for something and it came out of Rachel's mouth before she could recognize them herself. They came with a coat of exasperation, but they hinted the truth.

"Fine." Rachel sighd. "Would you _please_ accompany me for the rest of my shopping trip, because I am too short to reach anything in this store and I need you to help me."

A warm purring laughter bubbled up in the woman's throat and her lips grew wider, curling into her pale cheeks. "Well…" She husked, her dark irises flickering to her face. "Since you begged."

* * *

><p>They waited quietly in the line as the old man in front of them squandered about for his wallet, muttering old curses that must have died from the English language centuries ago. The silence wasn't urging, nor was it particularly unsettling, but it pooled a scrabble of words and letters into Rachel's mouth, preparing for her question.<p>

It was as the woman flipped lazily through a darkly clad magazine and Rachel slowly went about unloading her shopping cart, did the question suddenly burst from her lips, unaccounted.

"May I ask what your name is?" Rachel asked bluntly with a small hint of hope layering her voice. One might think it was a sporadic question, but it was nothing of the sort. But, for a moment, she considered taking it back, because for the first time that afternoon, she watched as the smirk on the woman's face fell off.

The woman was silent for a moment, her expression tight in the corners as if someone had stretched her skin too far. It may have only been a few seconds, but it felt as though time pooled shapelessly around them, ticking the seconds off the clock and sending her wayward into an area of timelessness.

The woman raised her hand to silently pick at her silver necklace; a nervousness seemed to flit about the surface of her face, her fingertips moving slowly across the necklace and fingering the small metal bundle in the middle, as if the demonic sign held any semblance of importance to anyone who wasn't currently waiting for the woman to speak.

Thankfully, the woman did learn to speak again, raising her chin to meet Rachel's eyes. She smiled a nervous sort of smile, although, Rachel was sure it was meant to be firmer.

"It's Dara…"

The woman cleared her throat and nodded, her lips curling into a larger smirk; but just beneath her dark sunglasses, Rachel caught a movement, and could have sworn her eyes seemed to flicker about anxiously.

"Yeah, it's just Dara." Her voice retained the huskily soft hint to it, becoming nearly sweet as it was irresistible, but it held an almost unrecognizable flow of emotion, making it indistinguishable to every other sound she had made before. Rachel could only nod slowly, her heart skipping a beat or two in a timeless flutter. She ignored, for the time being that Dara had not provided her with a last name, and instead, enjoyed the fact that she had given one at all.

Rachel smiled up at the girl, and softly returned the favor. "It's nice to meet you, Dara." Rachel said warmly. "I'm Rachel Berry." Rachel held up a hand and become visibly giddy when Dara smiled gently and returned the gesture, gingerly shaking her hand. The grasp was warm and firm, lasting for several seconds before Rachel allowed the fingers to slip away. She smiled warmly and subtly tried to hide the faint blush on her cheeks. "I suppose it would be considered rude if I didn't thank you for being moderately helpful today, wouldn't it?"

The woman raised an eyebrow and settled back down against the counter like a lazy cat. The woman's lips curl into a roguish smile. "Was I only moderate? If I recall so correctly, the only item in that cart you got yourself was the Barbra Streisand doll, which you didn't think I'd see."

Her voice returned to the light teasing sound, and it gave Rachel flutters in her belly. With a blush, she lightly pushed the doll underneath a carton of Soy Milk and hid it safely from view.

"Yes, well. It was on sale, so it wasn't as though I could say no." She swore to be better at this bantering thing next time; she felt a warm bloom of achievement when Dara chuckled and visibly rolled her eyes, returned to her magazine with a warmer smile on her face.

"Miss, is this all yours?" Rachel blinked slowly, and glanced at the boy behind the counter. He was staring incrediously at the pile of food flooding his aisle. Rachel only sighed and continued to stack more products from the cart, widening the boy's eyes even more.

As much as she loves her fathers, it was like living with a pair of wolves. Each one ate more than half of what a starving lion must devour every day, and it made keeping a bill under a hundred an impossible task unless one is preparred to go hungry for a week. Rachel places a can of string beans with a little more emphasis than intended, startling both the boy and the lazy cat-woman lying against the counter. With a blush, she continued her stacking.

When the boy was done eyeing her food, he turned his curiosity to Dara, his eyes wandering across her form and to the empty space beside her, undoubtedly making the same realization Rachel did.

Rachel's brow furrowed. "Dara, are you not getting anything?" Her hands stall in their process of unloading, pausing on another package of cookies – just one of the few that her fathers asked for her to purchase, something she shamelessly used to string Dara along, at the risk of her fathers's health too. Dara looked at her, the sunglasses sliding down on her delicate nose, revealing thin, pronounced eyebrows.

One raised into a familiar arch. A stirring churned in Rachel's stomach, but it passed away only seconds later, melting into a bowl of butter when Dara's lips widened into a smug cat-like smile.

She lazily pushs the glasses back into its proper place, leaning against the counter again – only somehow, she was closer this time, although, Rachel could have sworn she never saw her move. Dara smirks.

"No. I got everything I came here for." Her voice held a swarm of swirling mysteries; it was something that would undoubtedly be reflecting in her eyes – if Rachel could see them, that is.

Rachel blew out a breath. "Oh. Well. That's good." She was a little unclear on what she meant, but whatever it was, it left a burning blush on her skin. She cleared her throat and nodded, returning the smile as if they had just shared a joke, although, Rachel wasn't sure what was funny – which, she didn't mind, she was willing to comply as long as the joke didn't turn on her.

Its odd how time moves; it's like a curious animal, pausing in its tracks and stalling the motion occuring around it, oblivious and unconscious to the world it manipulates; but as it can stop and wonder, can it not become anxious or flustered? Time, as the nameless animal it is, may quicken its pace and move a little more restlessly, on its way towards something in which it fears it may be late.

It really is odd, because now, as Rachel turns the key in the ignition and reeves her car back to life, she wonders just how she got there and how the last few seconds with Dara seemingly slipped through her fingers. But it hardly mattered, not even to Rachel, because now, she had a reason to return to this unnatural and unorthodox Supermarket – although, she still plans on mailing the manager to fix those silly and unconstructive shelves. It would surely only help them in the end.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow, this chapter is like, super duper long, aint it? I'm not sure if other chapters will be this long, but I hope it was enjoyable, and if there are any mistakes, blame my twin.<strong>

**And hey, don't be afraid to just click that little blue button over there, eh? :)**


	3. Or Dr Jekyll

This was a killer. Do you all know the story? Computer crashed, deleted hard drive, I had to start from scratch. Jesus. Christ. And I must thank you all of the reviews, and even those who remain as silent readers, thanks for giving this story a chance.

**Disclaimer: **Does it look like I own Glee? Please.

**Authors Note: **I know people may be frustrated with a part of this chapter, but it's like important and stuff. Annnd, I'm making references to important novels. I'm a dork.

Sorry it's so_ long!_

* * *

><p>Quinn was wrapped up in her mother's handmade quilt, perched on her family couch with a small carton of Ben &amp; Jerry's. School had been horrible, and the longer she thought about it, the worse it seemed to get, fueling the near robotic motion of her hand to the small carton of <em>Double Fudge Chocolate Chip<em>. Which, inevitably, reached her mouth.

This started ten minutes after school, and since then, she has promised each spoonful that it would be her last, but of course, it would only take a small sigh before she found herself scooping for another solution, composed entirely of dairy and chocolate. With a quiet huff, she stabbed a chocolate chunk with her spoon and slumped back into the couch.

Technically, this _was_ her fault. By a very technical way, there was really no one else to blame; she let Finn go far too early than what was good for her, and it was simply naive to believe that the man-child could survive a week without needing a body to cling onto. It was in his nature, and the more she dated him, the harder it was to distinguish him from one of those wild, deranged monkeys you see at the Zoo.

Sure, she had plans to drop Finn from the beginning, but she didn't exactly follow said plan step by step. Or at all, really. She was supposed to be dating Rachel first, and have her with absolute certainty, but instead, she let herself get too excited. And maybe she invested too much in a hopeful thought, which was unlike her, but it was Rachel's doing in the first place. She thought Rachel might have gotten over Finn, and with her day with Rachel, had maybe put far too much confidence with how it turned out.

She wasn't one to be so impulsive, but Rachel seemed to always give her mind that extra edge it needed to make jumping off cliffs or creating a second identity all that more reasonable.

And of course, there was that one thought she couldn't help but cling on to. The one that claimed Rachel was over Finn and that she had the upper hand now, which was fine and dandy, as long as it stayed in her head. She could cling to a thought, as long as it remained so. But of course, instead, it brought up a wave of excitement, which apparently brought the message everywhere.

And as things usually go with an impulse, it wasn't long before she was in the middle of another realization: that she wasn't the only one on the pursuit of Rachel Berry.

It wasn't even an hour later when she was watching Finn and Rachel in the auditorium, one cleaning wounds and the other making them. She watched them for a while, watched Rachel stroke Finn's hair as their voices dipped down to a low murmur, becoming warm and comforting and soothing. Time sped by, and while she can't remember just how long she watched them, she knew exactly how long it took for her to calm herself, to unwind the dangerous snake coiling in her stomach.

And while Quinn felt anger in that moment, felt it boil in her blood and flush in her cheeks - it was nothing compared to the cold slap of fear that compressed in her chest and made her stomach drop; her heart fluttering like a torn paper bird.

That wasn't why she was eating through an entire carton of Ben and Jerry's though. Quinn Fabray was nothing short of prepared. She was practically built from careful moments, stress and unexpected variables. It didn't take long to lasso Finn back to her and tie him up a little tighter.

The damage was, at the very least, controllable.

But what made her so agitated was the fact that remained ever so clear, irritating her like an old rash she can't scratch. Finn has a leg up on her. Being a boy already puts him in front of the race, but revealing his weak, vulnerable side was something close to moronic. Rachel always had something of a soft spot for the unwanted, and Finn was the puppy that got kicked too many times.

Dara may be something exciting, but all she had against Finn was a day at the Supermarket where she can flirt over deli meat and soy cheese. A compelling detail, surely.

Quinn sighs shakily. When in doubt...and so on. She sullenly scoops for another spoon of ice cream, settling back into the couch with nothing to do but fall into the selfish human relief system: self-pity

She didn't turn her head when her mother walked in, but she lowered her eyes a little, as though shrinking in size would leave her undetected to her mother's gaze. She cringed a little when she felt her mother's eyes flicker to the back of her neck, hearing the soft, accompanied sigh that came with the glance. Swallowing quietly, she tried to put the lid on the container without notice, erasing the evidence of the last twenty minutes with a small swipe of her hand.

When her mother sighed, Quinn inwardly cringed, knowing what would come next. "Quinnie, don't you think you've had enough of that?" Quinn sullenly placed the lid on the container and wiped the corners of her mouth. "You know, you can't burn calories by eating them, dear."

Shame burned her cheeks and Quinn looked away. "Okay, mom." Without another word, Quinn walked over to push the container back into the freezer and shut the lid. If only she could do that with all her problems, lock them up in some cold place and return to them when she was ready to deal with it.

Her mother makes a small sound of displeasure and Quinn's eyes flicker to her side profile. Her neck is strained, and there is stiffness in her spine, her hands moving quickly amongst the dishes and pans set out. She's later than usual, dinner should already be in the oven by now and Daddy will be home soon.

She hesitates for only a moment longer, looking shyly from behind the refrigerator door at her mother.

But quietly, so quietly as to not make a sound, she sidles up next to her and joins her mother in the race. She chops onions and lines the carrots into one row, chopping quickly down each stalk. After a few minutes, her mother relaxes, her hands slowing down to its usual pace.

"Mrs. Hobbs and I were organizing one of our get together." Quinn nods absently, not really interested. Mrs. Hobbs was the woman down the block with the carefully planted garden and the white roses she guards with her life. She comes over every other Saturday - it's their routine, and yet they organize it every week, as though it would ever change.

When Quinn was young, she used to hide in the pantry and listen to them talk, pressing her ear against the door and straining to hear the words. She could only really hear their voices, rising and falling between gaps of silence and tea drinking, but every once and a while they would spurt into a peal of laughter, her mother and Mrs. Hobbs clucking like old hens.

Quinn smiles a little at the memory. "How is she?" She's not really interested, Mrs. Hobbs is a nasty old lady, but she liked to hear her mother talk about her. Judy's lips quirk into a small smile, the knife slowing down to a slow chop.

"Her daughter is coming to visit her in a few weeks. She's so excited." There was a soft, reverent sigh. "Such a kind woman. She got me thinking about Frannie, actually." Quinn's hand stalled on the knife, pressing the blade hard against the cutting board.

"Frannie? Why?" Quinn fakes a smile, her heart finding an old tune of weariness. Judy doesn't notice the expression of pain and instead pours a can of buttermilk into the sauce, stirring it slowly.

"Oh, you know, our little girl has been cooped up in that Ivy League school of hers for months now, without a single visit. I was just thinking how lonely she must be. Up there all by herself." Judy sighs and a small studious frown forms in Quinn's forehead, waiting for the shoe to drop. "So I called her up to talk to her."

Quinn stops chopping altogether, time pressing a pause on her heart as Judy smiles. "We had such a good talk. It'll be so nice to see her again, don't you think? She's coming home soon. College has been something of heartache to her, the poor girl." Judy shakes her head and puts a dash of salt in the sauce.

Quinn frowned and continued chopping, her hands absently moving on to the lettuce. So it wasn't Mrs. Hobbs that delayed her mother so much. It was her good _hearty_ chat with Frannie.

It wasn't like she didn't love Frannie; she loves her older sister very much. She's even a little excited to see her again, but the problem was that everyone is. It was hard to reason through her parent's instinctual response to childhood fears: that they love them both equally. Not when Frannie was just so much easier to love.

Her smiles were never forced, her laugh was always pretty, and her eyes never hardened. She was so unlike Quinn, who has pressed and folded herself into something similar, but still cannot reach the same effortlessness that Frannie was born with.

They are different, incredibly so - for sisters of the same blood. With her delicate blooming skin, her wide-set, modest eyes and fine golden hair, she was something not even Quinn could mimic perfectly; no matter how hard she tried.

Frannie was the one that was showered with attention. She naturally drew people to her, maybe with a smile or a shy turn of her head. But it was sweet. And so when Quinn tried, it always came out differently. It felt manipulative. And people felt it too, they felt the difference between the two sisters, and treated them differently too.

Quinn began to crave attention. She craved it with all her being, needing something deep inside her fulfilled. And it became something of a competition between the two sisters - who could be loved more? Frannie never knew she was playing, but still, she knew all the secrets to win.

The game between them ended when Frannie left, and her parents turned to their second daughter. They were able to ignore that darker part of her - stretching a second skin over her own - they made her perfect. She almost feels perfect too. It's been long enough that she has grown accustomed to their attention, and the very thought of giving that up makes her sick. She's lost enough progress for the day - she's not about to loose a single inch with her parents.

Quinn blinks as the door slams shut, smiling brightly as her father comes through the door. Abandoning her chopping duties, Quinn comes to her father's aid, taking his coat from his shoulders and folding it neatly into her hands. Russell Fabray smiles and kisses her forehead.

"Thank you, my dear." He says with a smile that lifts the corners of his mouth. He pats her shoulder and moves into the house, talking quietly with her mother. Quinn lags behind, hiding a small smile as she quietly hangs jacket into the closet. She's grown accustomed to that - the smile and the affectionate kisses and pats.

No, she's not loosing a single inch.

* * *

><p>"Are you deaf?" Quinn blinked and looked over to her angry friend, not surprised to see the familiar frown and challenging dark eyes looking back. "I've been talking to you for the past twenty minutes."<p>

Quinn found she didn't really care. With a small shrug, she returned to her place on the page, her fingernail tracing the line as she reads the passage again. _Perhaps Adam did not see Cathy at all, so lighted was she by his eyes. Burned in his mind-_

Quinn let out a hissing breath when she felt a sharp tug at her ear. She let out a low growl of irritation, a warning really, but unheard by Santana's ears.

"Hey, Fabray, you going to respond or am I going to have another annual book burning in the middle of the night?" Santana said, tapping Quinn irritably on the arm. She usually wasn't this attentive to Quinn's absent mind, or at least, she had never really cared before. But this time, she wasn't letting Quinn drift away, and almost stubbornly, Quinn went back to reading.

Santana scoffed as she read the lines, again, bent on finishing it, though her usual appreciation of the words was lost. _Burned in his mind was an image of beauty and tenderness, a sweet and holy girl, precious beyond thinking, clean and loving -_

"Ay dios mio. It's a wonder we haven't killed each other yet." The words flow easier now, quickly and easily, she could almost finish the page. ..._precious beyond thinking, clean and loving, and that image was Cathy to her husband, and nothing Cathy did or said could warp Adam's Cathy -_

"Alright, you know what? You can go to your stupid appointment alone." Quinn's stomach suddenly dropped and a flash of fear alights inside. Ducking her head, she sighs softly and gently bent the page to keep her place, pushing it to the corner of her desk. It didn't really appeal to Santana's patience though, and it definitely didn't do anything for Quinn's dignity, but the words she selects carefully in her head would at least help one of them out.

"I'm sorry Santana, please continue. It must have been really important." She couldn't help the faint touch of sarcasm from entering her voice, but thankfully, Santana didn't care very much. She merely rolled her eyes and picked back up with the point of her conversation, returning to it halfheartedly.

"It's at five o'clock, by the way." Santana ends her long stemmed rant about Rachel's clothes and how they should be added to the list of terrorism or be burned - preferably while they're on her.

Quinn can only sigh, unfortunately having no idea what Santana means, but having no real enthusiasm to ask her. But Santana had a nasty habit of trapping people with her sentences, and not wanting to be outwitted; Quinn forcibly retracted her hand from its dangerous place on her book and turned to her friend.

"What's at five o'clock?" Quinn asks wearily. If Santana signed her up for another long night of partying, Quinn's going to sporadically have mono again, or any other disease that could possibly keep her within the safety of her home. The last time she attended one of Santana's 'blow out' parties, she very narrowly avoided being puked on and thrown into a pool of beer and urine.

Quinn gagged just thinking of it, those nasty boys with their sweaty skin and foul breath, swaying above her, the beads of perspiration on their upper lip. Just the thought of th-

"Are you an idiot? Jesus. It's for the appointment for your nose ring_._" Quinn snapped her head up and locked her eyes on Santana, the words registering in her brain as she became flighty again. She had already bailed two times before, two appointments: one on Monday, the next on Tuesday. Her excuses were that she was stuck in Bible Study (which wasn't a lie) and the other, that she was spending time with Rachel (which was).

It was disappointing how many times she has read Bible text rather than being with Rachel. But Berry was surprisingly hard to find when she wasn't scrolling through a Supermarket - though, that was probably due to her size.

"Great. Can't wait." Quinn said grimly. Maybe nobody will notice the small hole in her nose, but that doesn't change the fact that there will still be a _hole_ in her _nose._ Quinn sighed and Santana groaned.

"Don't tell me you're bailing on me again, Tootsie." Quinn rolled her eyes at the nickname and stubbornly picked at her book's cover. "Yeah, well, you're not going to get out of it this time. I don't care if your savior Jesus comes down to earth on a white horse tonight; you're getting that damn piercing." Quinn huffed and jerked her head away.

There was a pause, and then, "I'm willing to bet Rachel thinks piercings are hot." Santana adds with trademark smirk. Quinn falters and presses her palms against the desk to stop herself from reaching out for the book again. Santana was probably teasing her, after all, Rachel had never expressed any interest in shiny metallic things in people's skin before; though she wouldn't be very surprised if she did - the girl practically glittered when she walked, whether from the sequence or sparkles, she didn't know.

And Santana sometimes saw things that Quinn did not. Her eyes flickered to the side, warily taking in Santana's position. "And what would you know about Rachel?"

Santana smirked. "You're so predictable, Q-tip." Quinn bit back the urge to respond with some snarky comment, because if Santana actually had something interesting, her chances of hearing it would only decrease. Quinn pursed her lips and pushed her book more over to the side - ridding of any temptation - and turned towards Santana, waiting with - hopefully - an expression of patience.

Santana faltered a little, surprised by Quinn's interest. It dawned on her that - maybe - she should have gathered something before dangling it in front of Quinn for teasing purposes. But Quinn rarely expresses any interest in hearing what she had to say, so it would hardly be her fault for assuming that Quinn would never come to expect anything of her.

It would only figure that when a chance arises to have the upper hand, she turned the tables on herself. Santana huffed, "Well I don't know." Great, now she looks stupid. "I mean, Rachel pretty much bedazzles everything in her life. I wouldn't be surprised if she thought a bedazzled girlfriend was cool, too."

Quinn's eyes flicker across her face, obviously expecting more to come out of her mouth, but when nothing else does, she frowns. "Wait..." Hazel eyes narrow. "That's it?" Santana purses her lips and looks away, a small blush blooming in her cheeks. Quinn lets out a sigh and falls back in her seat, her upper lip twitching with irritation. "Well, if you don't _know_, then don't say anything."

Though it was said quietly, almost childishly, Santana still felt it get a rise out of her. Anger was a knee-jerk reaction for her after all. "Jesus. I said I was willing to bet." Santana said testily, "I'm not the one that wastes my time stalking her, you know." Quinn only rolled her eyes and returned to her book, pulling it from the corner of the desk.

Anger was something Santana could never control in her, and it ruled her naturally through the actions of her muscles and the cuts from her tongue. It ignited a flame in her stomach and filled her mouth with smoke, the desire to burn imprinting her words. It was an impulse, something she hadn't thought she needed to fix.

With a curl of her lip, she leaned foreword. "You really want to know what Rachel likes?" Quinn slowly looks back over to her, her eyes flickering across her face to see if she was serious, and when she apparently found what she was looking for, she raised an eyebrow and wordlessly expressed her answer. Santana smirked. "Well, with everything that I have seen, her playing around with Puckerman, and all, I'm willing to bet that Berry likes boys."

It was a lie. But that didn't stop her from continuing, even when Quinn's face became slack and the color drained from her face. "Funny, right? Maybe you can confuse her with the pink hair and Goth clothes, but I'm pretty sure you're lacking the certain package Berry's looking for."

Once the words left Santana's mouth, she nearly breathed them back in. It was like striking a match, or as quick as one - the effect her words had over Quinn inflicted neither a flame nor anger. Her lips twitch, but instead of snarling like Santana had expected her to, she settles back into her chair and turns away. Her eyes flicker to the front of class, staring a hole into the whiteboard with a look that even the teacher winced away from.

Santana inwardly groaned, watching Quinn irritably. She didn't mean to say the last part; it just sort of slipped out - because even though she was irritated, she knew better than to go play with Quinn's insecurities. They were often bigger than hers. Now she was poking at something much more serious than just an angry cheerleader.

She sighed when the bell rings, watching as Quinn quietly picked up her things, walking away, cold and out of touch.

Santana has fortunately learned how to apply damage control when it was needed. "Okay, so I might have dramatized things a little bit. Rachel wasn't just hanging around there, waiting for him, or anything. She was just walking by and Puck had his shirt off - but when doesn't he, really. And you know, thinking about it, I think Rachel was more upset that he was breaking the school dress code than anything."

She forced a laugh, watching it bounce off Quinn - quickly and without affect - like a coin hitting a tightly stretched sheet. She tried a different approach. "You know what? I think I saw the midget stapling a poster to Puck's locker just yesterday, like with all the glitter and gold stars and stuff? 'To keep respectful to fellow peers' and shit."

Santana did her best to mimic Rachel's voice, but it only came off disjointed. She always thought Rachel sounded obnoxious, but Quinn had something of a secret admiration for it, because a flicker of hesitation broke into Quinn's defense, and Santana jumped onto it eagerly. Sure, it was also a total lie, but it wouldn't be such a surprise if it ended up being true.

Forcing a laugh, she tried to draw Quinn in. "Isn't that totally Berry?" She wanted to stab herself in the eye with how caked her words sounded, but the affect it had on Quinn was miraculous - as it was predictable.

Quinn pursed her lips, slowing down from her prowl, becoming more of the graceful image of the HBIC. Quinn chewed on the inside of her lip and picked at Santana's words until she regained some sort of hold on herself, grudgingly returning to normal.

"I guess." Quinn said, her eyes narrowing skeptically. Santana almost felt relieved, thinking she had dodged a bullet of sorts. But irony worked in wondrous ways, and it was like the wind changed, because the cheerleader suddenly raised her head and looked around, as though she were a dog catching a familiar scent.

Santana hadn't heard anything, but there was something exceptionally weird about Quinn's hearing. It was perfectly filtered. She could miss an entire conversation, but be able to pick out small words from the middle of the football field. As long as it was something she wanted to hear.

And Rachel's voice was just one of those things. Quinn could pick it out from complete silence, like a dog hearing a silent whistle.

And this time, Quinn picked it out of a dissipating crowd, threading through the rest of the students to find the source of the voice. And that's where she found them. Santana cursed as Quinn faltered, her eyes narrowing, the small muscle in her jaw flexing again.

Rachel was opening her locker. Or trying to, really. Rachel couldn't reach. But of course, she had Finn there beside her, his shoulder leaning against the lockers as Rachel struggled to reach. And it came out like that, unfolding like a play before Quinn's eyes. She could almost predict it, watching with red-riddled eyes as Finn smiled happily and easily swiped Rachel's books from her locker.

He smiled down at her and Rachel blushed, shyly tucking hair behind her ear.

And just like that, everything Dara had become was replaced.

Before she could register the quick flutter in her heart, she was already in motion. Her teeth were digging painfully into her cheek, and for a moment, she thought she tasted blood. She faintly noticed that Santana had cursed and dropped out of step with her, disappearing into the crowd.

Quinn knows anger, she's has felt it through every stage of her life. When something strikes her, it always starts with her heart. It starts with an uneven heartbeat, escalating into a breathless race. It pounds against her chest until there is nothing in the world that can be heard over the beating in her head. Then it's like the blood is pooling into her mouth, because her mouth becomes bitter and swallowing becomes a task, as if she has a mouth full of poison.

But now, even though her heart is pounding and her mouth tastes familiarly bitter, she knows this isn't what hatred feels like.

Quinn sidles up beside Finn, watching Rachel turn, her skin flushed and her brown eyes glittering. The words come out like water. "Hello Finn. _Rupaul_."

Finn snapped upright, the books in his hands clattering loudly to the floor. She sneers at him as he gapes at her like a fish. She knows the harshness in her voice. By nature it's supposed to sound soft, but she must have been born with a steel chord in her throat because she could make it cut like a file when she needed it to.

"Q-Quinn." Finn stumbles, stepping uneasily between Rachel and his girlfriend, seemingly unsure on what side he should take. Eventually, he side stepped the both of them and stood uncertainly on the side, glancing back to the calm hazel eyes of his girlfriend. But she wasn't staring back; her eyes were firmly locked on Rachel as she ducked down and quickly picked up all of her books.

When Rachel straightened herself, Finn quickly distanced himself from her with two large steps, looking away as though that would placate Quinn in any way. But unless those two steps would somehow put an invisible barrier between them and make them strangers, than it did absolutely nothing.

Quinn's eyes found Finn, pinning him in place. "What are you doing, Finn?" her voice was sweet and soft, but there was something deeper underneath it, something that made Finn look increasingly uncomfortable. He knew, by now at least, that he was in trouble when she used her 'sweet' voice. She structured her words like a spider's web and it always posed an invisible trap.

For Quinn, it was different. It wasn't that she disliked Finn, or that he was even a bad guy, but he was a threat to everything she has been working for. And a good one at that.

Finn stumbled. "Uh, um. Rachel. Rachel and I...she." Finn looked hopelessly over to the brunette, as though the girl might straighten up, rip off that dorky animal sweater and reveal the Superman uniform hiding underneath. The funny thing about that, however, was that Rachel was looking at him the same way.

But Rachel was good at reading signs, and when all Finn could do was gape at her, she stepped foreword - taking the hero slot and straightening her shoulders. Her eyes found hers instantly and the words came out without any force or thought. "Finn and I were only discussing our assignment together. We have a science project and we are partners."

It was a good lie, one that might have convinced any other person, had they not been Quinn. Unfortunately for them, however, she _was_ Quinn. And Quinn had a very obsessive personality. She did her homework perfectly when it came to looking up Rachel's life and interests.

She did it to a point where now the very possibility of Finn ever sharing a class with Rachel is ludicrous, _especially_ in science. Rachel was something of a genius when it comes to science, and Quinn may or may not have surfed through the local newspaper for her name from the past few months - she was pleasantly surprised, several times.

But Finn was nodding along like it made perfect sense and Rachel just smiles kindly. And just as suddenly, Quinn's mouth tastes bitter again and a quick white-hot anger settles over her.

Quinn's eyes flash to Rachel, "Science plans?" Finn nods again, smiling down with relief. She doesn't return the smile; instead, she cocks her head and stares at Rachel, who instantly notices the flicker in her eyes. Rachel ducks her head, knowing she was caught. Smart girl. "Finn. You don't _take_ science."

Finn blinks in surprise and his mouth falls open, visibly struggling with this information. Rachel only cringes, her eyes flickering over to Finn in sympathy.

Quinn caught the glance and boiled over again, swallowing the thickness in her throat. She suddenly found the words in her mouth. "Okay, Finn." She breathed out, taking a small step foreword. "I'll make this easy for you. I'll give you ten seconds to leave this hallway and let Berry and I alone for a little while..." Rachel grimaced, "and then you don't have to go to Bible study with me tomorrow to replenish your sins."

Finn blinked and Quinn rolled her eyes. "In other words. I'll drop this if you leave."

Finn looked as though he needed more convincing, so she smiled up at him, a terrible smile, the one that she shows to a new batch of Cheerios. The one that promises pain bruises and aching muscles; it was all teeth and deflection, and she knew for a fact that it terrified people. She was always pretty good at that - putting fear in people, and it wasn't a surprise when Finn swallowed and took a small step away. He spared a sheepish glance to Rachel before bounding quickly out of the room.

Rachel watched him go quietly, biting her lower lip - whether from anxiety or happiness. Though, it was rather clear that it wouldn't be the latter, and Quinn was certain when her brown eyes flickered back to her, flashing with uncertainty. A quick, nervous smile formed on her lips.

She perked an eyebrow as though to question her, but Rachel didn't play along. "I think we need to set something straight, Berry." She took an advancing step, but faltered when Rachel didn't back down. She placed a hand on Rachel's locker to steady herself. "Finn isn't yours. He's my boyfriend. You need to _back off_."

It felt weird; to claim such possession with the boy she was fighting so viciously with. This should be a fight between two different people, between Dara and Finn, but as the third party, Quinn needed to control the unexpected variables. So she did her best, taking a step closer to spike up the intimidation factor.

It back fired.

Rachel raised her chin, "I'm sorry Quinn. I understand why you may feel threatened by me, but you can trust that there is nothing romantic going on between Finn and me. We are merely involved in Glee together." Rachel smiled, and it seemed almost genuine, as though she really didn't want a fight.

But Quinn saw a challenge somewhere between her eyes and chin, and ended up looking quickly away from her lips.

God, this wasn't going well at all.

Quinn worked her jaw, feeling her muscles tighten and clench underneath her skin. Anger controlled her very easily, it would seem. "And I'm supposed to believe that?" Quinn sneered. "You must think I'm a moron." She found Rachel's eyes quickly, hating the sudden disparity in her voice. It had meant to sound challenging, but instead, she sounded insulted.

Rachel frowned and looked at her quizzically, her eyes narrowing and flickering across Quinn's face in search of something. The cheerleader was surprised by the sudden force of her search, and as Rachel looked into her, she couldn't help but feel suddenly very foolish in her tight cheerleader's uniform and tied up pony tail.

Like a kid confused, she lashed out. "What are you looking at, freak?" Rachel's expression didn't change, she merely stared until the bell rang, in which simply looked up in surprise. She quickly closed her locker before stepping away.

Quinn's heart lurched. "Hey, where do you think you're going?" Quinn was too surprised to keep her voice in order, sounding suddenly frantic and confused.

No, this wasn't going well at all.

Quinn caught up with her around the stairs, stopping her with a brisk, "Hey!" Rachel let out a quiet breath and turned to face her, looking puzzled by her persistence. The cheerleader snarled, upset suddenly with Rachel's complete uninterested. "You don't get to just walk away from me, okay?"

Rachel looked at her quizzically. "And why not?" she asked. It was a simple question, asked with mere curiosity, showing neither contempt nor kindness, but despite the lack of emotion, the blonde nearly stumbled back from the force of it. Had Rachel actually showed anything akin to contempt, she knew she would have turned around and ran off with her tail between her legs.

But she didn't, so she steadied herself and lifted her head, meeting her eyes again. "You're getting a little mouthy, don't you think?" Quinn hissed, "People like you should learn their place at this school." But even as she said that, she felt her heart wrap madly against her rib cage, and suddenly, her voice sounded weak and feeble. It was hardly formed as an insult, so it wavered and fell flat.

Rachel must have noticed the look of uncertainty, because her eyebrows rose. But instead of pointing it out for the purpose of embarrassing Quinn - as instinct has taught Quinn to do - she backed off and let it go. Her eyes turned a shade softer before she looked to her watch. "Well, class has already started." Surprisingly, her voice had even become softer, almost soothing, as though a higher note in her voice might set Quinn off again.

Quinn frowned, but found nothing to say afterwards. She found herself watching helplessly as Rachel turned away, as though prepared to leave their conversation in this disaster.

But before Quinn could even stop her, she turned around again, facing her with the same expression of awareness and consciousness of her - as though she needed to be treated like a child. Quinn almost retorted something, but found the words disappearing nervously in her throat again when Rachel opened her mouth, somehow connecting her next sentence with her last. "You know, you should really consider joining Glee Club, Quinn. I think it would do you well. You obviously have a lot you need to express."

Quinn blinked in surprise. She watched wordlessly as Rachel nodded and strides up the stairs. It was only after her classroom door slammed shut did Quinn fully realizes what Rachel had said, and the accusation that came with it.

Did Rachel really think of her as that unstable? She didn't need help, and she didn't need some cheesy therapeutic singing session, if that's what Rachel meant. Quinn scoffed, but felt deep inside, her stomach churning nervously. Slowly, she turned around and went down the stairs, threading through the empty hallways and into the empty gym.

She was in search of something. Something folded and pressed neatly into her locker; they fit like clothes, but worked like a solution. Because she did have things she needed to express, but they couldn't be done as Quinn, and surely not as a Christian cheerleader. She found her self in the middle of the Cheerio's locker room, unlocking a familiar door and pulling out her other bag.

It was dangerous to be doing this in here, but she had no other option (other than waiting for another time), but her mind was already making a bridge to Dara, where risks and dangerous outcomes were becoming something of an expectation.

So with a quick search of the premises, she dropped the skin of Quinn Fabray and pulled on layer upon layer of Dara Caraway.

Her reflection gradually became that of her other identity: red lipstick, smirking lips, pink hair, dark sunglasses, and the general dress attire of a damaged kid. While Quinn may have worried about her image, Dara didn't mind one bit - being the other side of herself, she didn't see the damage of a little bit of crazy - so without hesitation, she moved on again.

Dara stuffed her cheerleading uniform into her bag and shoved it into her locker, her legs working with an almost eager energy to start moving again. She stalked quickly through the hall, up the stairs and past Rachel's classroom door - all the way to down to the locker room, and repeated the cycle again.

It took her only a few more circles before she realized that maybe her rash decision was a little _too_ rash.

Dara sighed and slumped against the wall. Without a class to attend to, and by no means of a social life, she waited patiently - and without shame - for Rachel Berry to get out of class. Unsurprisingly, she found herself in the middle of the nearest restaurant, ordering a bucket full of greasy bacon and finding a table that wasn't infiltrated by pidgins and people.

She sighed when the sound of crispy bacon crunched in her mouth. Maybe it was the grease, or the taste of bacon on her tongue, but she felt happier.

Dara found herself smiling through her bacon, because she almost felt free, the anger and criticism of Quinn Fabray having left her for the moment.

She was Dara Caraway (a name she coined from the pages of a rhyming dictionary), and the very thought of Finn Hudson stealing Rachel Berry from her was simply laughable.

* * *

><p>"I am very honored that you picked me, Dara." Rachel exclaimed cheerfully, glancing up at Dara with a beaming smile. "I'm so glad we ran into each other again, so soon. It's such a coincidence!" Rachel smiled happily and Dara smirked.<p>

"Isn't it?" Dara purred, pocketing the small schedule and sliding it secretly into her back pocket. Whether it was luck, coincidence, or the "Rachel Berry" calendar she was tucking into her pocket, they did meet up again.

Voice practices are colored red, which, apparently, are very different from her vocal classes - which are colored green. Santana had helped her make it, and surprisingly, her friend was better at thinking like Rachel Berry than she gave herself credit for. After all, the calendar was very proactive. Had Dara not known any better, she would have thought it was made by Rachel Berry herself; the only thing Santana could have missed was the cats, stars and maybe some glitter.

Dara smirked, her heart fluttering a little in her chest. If it was really Rachel's craziness that made her so lightheaded, than she had far more problems to sort through than she previously thought.

"It's just...I've never been invited to something like this before." Rachel admitted shyly, a small blush blooming on her skin.

Dara raised an eyebrow, glancing over to her. "An appointment?" Her lips quirked into a small smirk. She loved teasing Rachel Berry. "I hadn't realized the back-alley shops were getting so much heat now-and-days." Rachel rolled her eyes a little, a faint blush dusting her cheeks as she shook her head.

"No." Rachel said softly, wandering a little closer to Dara before softly clearing her throat. "I meant the invitation in general. No one has ever invited me anywhere, before."

Rachel continued to walk, but Dara faltered. It was like whiplash, or like a slap of reality from some thick dream. Its funny how just a wig, some sunglasses and lipstick can make someone feel so completely different. It was a feeling so sudden that it was hard to keep the expression of pain from showing up on her face, but she worked quickly to hide it away, catching the same walking pace she had before.

It was probable that Rachel never caught her slip, but all the same, she tried to recover, filling the small lapse of silence that had fallen between them. "Well. You _are_ awfully intimidating." Dara worked to get her smile back to normal, jerking her head a little to the side. She instantly found Rachel's curious face, her eyes glittering with that of interest.

Had she found it difficult to wipe away her guilt before, it was excruciating now; with the small quirk of Rachel Berry's smile, the heaviness of Quinn Fabray became a building pressure that climbed every second. It was like a rollercoaster that had just finished its _click-click-click_, and now she knew full well what would come next.

Rachel's eyes swirled with curiosity, a shy smile playing on her lips. "Why would anyone think I was intimidating?" It was obvious, by the tone of her voice, that she thought something secretive was about to conspire, and that the next few words should be shared in hushed, quiet whispers, for fear of whomever might hear.

Dara felt her expression change, her lips forming neither a smile nor a frown, something sad and sweet forming in the pit of her stomach. Rachel Berry was a conflicting force inside of her, as she always had been, and neither a wig nor a pair of sunglasses could change that, apparently.

Dara forced it all deep inside and smirked, returning to her naturally teasing voice, "It's probably your height."

Rachel blinked. Then blinked again. And once more for good measure.

Then, finally, she sighed and dropped her head. "Why must my height be the butt for _all_ your jokes." Rachel sighed again and Dara chuckled, slinging her arm over her slumped shoulders again. She cherished the small blush that bloomed on her skin, and watched in amusement as she huffed and stomped her small foot. "I am _not_ short."

Dara snorted. "You are delightfully short." She restated, pulling Rachel closer so that the girl's head bonked lightly against her shoulder. Rachel didn't know it, but in another life, they were only a few inches apart. The only thing that saved Dara from such humiliation was her boots.

With a growing smirk, she moved towards the building again, starting up the somewhat ghetto rundown sidewalk with Rachel in tow. It was an interesting set up, if one could put the word lightly. The entire building looked as though it was tilting sideways, probably held by a single thread, and the roof sagged, the concrete crumbling as they walked past it.

When she reached the door, she let out a small perplexed hum. The door handle could twist both ways and coated her fingers with a lovely layer of rust. Rubbing her hand on her pants, she shot a glance to Rachel - who had dropped the pretence of being angry for the moment to shoot furtive glances at her surroundings.

Dara simply couldn't resist. Bumping her shoulders lightly with Rachel's, she got the girl's attention. "Don't worry." She said, dipping her voice down to a whisper. "If anything, _I'll_ be the one to get murdered." Rachel's eyes widened comically and shot to Dara's face. The girl tried her best not to smirk. "They probably won't see you, anyway," Dara said, "you're shorter than the counter."

And then she ushered Rachel in, closing the door swiftly behind them. She watched with amusement as Rachel's eyebrows pulled together and a small pout started to form. She really did love teasing Rachel Berry.

She probably could have predicted what Rachel would have said next, had they not been interrupted. Not so much in words, but the man was a distraction in himself.

The tattoo artist lumbered back to the counter (which _was_ taller than Rachel) once he had spotted them, and crossed out (what Dara assumed to be) her name, before - wordlessly - motioning them to the back again. Good to know that nobody here bothered to ask for I.D. or a parental guardian, or any of those legal issues one might come across when getting a nose ring.

Maybe they would be getting murdered after all.

At least she didn't have to worry about Rachel, since she has seemingly materialized into Dara's shadow, a good place to hide, considering. She only peeked her head out once and a while, with wide-eyes, looking at the man as though he would retrieve an axe from the back pocket at anytime. But the old man gave no sign of noticing her terrified glances.

Instead, he wiped an empty seat clean and reclined it into a better position - giving Dara a stomach full of butterflies.

"Sit." The man grunted, and Rachel squeaked and burrowed behind Dara as though he was talking to her. Dara smirked and pried Rachel's fingers off her arm. It was harder than she expected, but when she finally let go, she held the arm as she slipped into the chair.

It felt familiar, with wrinkling plastic and an odd smell. It was on the edge of her tongue, and only finally materialized when the man flickered on the hovering light. She was sitting in an old, beaten up dentist chair. Dara frowned, fighting a shiver from coursing up her spine.

"Glasses." The man suddenly grunted and Rachel jumped again, tripped on what looked to be her own feet, and promptly fell into the chair behind her. Thank God, Dara might've died from seeing that adorable, shocked expression from all the way on the ground.

Dara smirked. "You alright there, Shorty?"

Rachel nodded dumbly, but she didn't respond or remark to her nickname. Her eyes were still on the large man in front of her. Which, apparently didn't faze him at all; instead, he remained focused on Dara. He was looking at her with an empty sort of stare, a stare that might make someone clamber through a back window in attempt to escape a certain death, and hope to God that they don't get stuck.

Dara was kind of freaking out. The man's eyes were dark and he had a beard that perfectly hid the expression of his mouth. So he could be giving her a small, serial killer smile along with the blank stare. Thankfully, Rachel's self-proclaimed sixth sense came in handy once again. Just as she had stepped up for Finn when he had blanked, she rose to the occasion with Dara just as she is moment away from freaking out like Quinn Fabray would. Which would be screaming her head off and running away, apologizing for being white and in this part of town.

Carefully, Rachel leaned closer and removed her sunglasses, her fingertips just barely grazing her left eyebrow. Dara's chest halted and her breath left her quietly, her eyes moving slowly up to the swirling brown orbs hovering above her.

Their eyes met and Rachel's eyebrows raised, surprise darting across her face.

Faintly, she could hear the man setting things up beside her, but Dara couldn't care less. Sometimes brown could be ugly, it could be flat an emotionless, like dead wood; this was not the case for Rachel. Her eyes were dark brown but alive in every sense of the word, opening up a vortex and swallowing her whole.

It occurred to her that this was Dara's first time seeing Rachel without any obstructing glass, and vice versa. And Rachel still hadn't said anything. Dara frowned and a spike of concern pulled at her stomach. Slowly, she pulled away enough to witness Rachel's expression, her eyes moving across her face and assessing her features for an entirely new reason.

_Can she see me?_ _Underneath the pink hair and the dark lipstick, does she see Quinn?_

Rachel only stared, so Dara forced out a smile, a flicker of panic fluttering inside her. "What's wrong?"

Rachel stared for only a moment longer before rapidly blinking, shaking her head and seemingly reconnecting to earth. When she noticed Dara's stare, her eyes widened in realization "Oh." She bit her lip and looked away, "It's nothing, really." Dara's eyebrows raised and Rachel blushed. "It's just...you have really beautiful eyes."

Dara raised an eyebrow, a small surprised smile forming, "Thank you." Dara said softly, "But I believe that was supposed to be my line." Rachel ducked her head and just smiled, her eyes flickering shyly away before she gently tucked some hair behind her ear.

Dara smirked. Take _that_ Finn Hudson.

It was then that the man decided to return, plopping loudly into the seat next to her and scaring Rachel again. She yelped and jumped in her chair, her fingernails digging into Dara's skin as she leaned foreword, apparently trying to burrow behind Dara's pink head.

Dara laughed gently. "Hey Rach, you're doing a great job as a comforter. Are you sure you've never done this before?" Rachel huffed and straightened up, raising her chin petulantly.

"Believe it or not, I have _great_ comforting skills." Rachel added childishly, raising her voice to a more compelling sound. Dara only snorted, shaking her head. "What, you don't believe me?" Did she really have to answer that? Rachel apparently found the answer anyway, letting out an indignant huff. "Fine, I guess I will simply have to prove it to you."

Dara raised an eyebrow, watching with amusement as Rachel scooted her chair closer, placing her hands on either side of Dara's head. She was about to ask what Rachel was doing, but her heart stopped in her chest and her tongue became tangled in her mouth.

Rachel's fingers started slowly, working gently on the skin, first near the bone and then further, venturing out across narrow shoulders and smooth skin. Dara let out a small humming purr, melting into it. She massaged delicately and efficiently, finding knots that her muscles have hidden from her for months and untangling them, moving to a soft caress up and down her neck.

"Is this okay?" Rachel asked tentatively, a slight hitch of nervousness in her voice. Dara could hear it, and though she wanted to say something of some meaning, the only sound she could manage was a small moan, blurring from her mouth like a cat's purr. Rachel blushed and looked away, but she caught a flicker of a smile on her lips.

But that was it. She was beyond reason, really. Dara hadn't even known she was craving this, for this sort of contact, but with a sudden wave of longing she felt herself straining closer.

Although Dara was supposed to be her identity for all of her guilty-pleasures and desires it was Quinn's lonely heart that bled through, made her lean foreword and strain towards those following fingers.

And though it was a wonderful moment (for both Dara and Quinn), the tattoo artist apparently wasn't willing to wait any longer. With a grunt, he slid his chair in closer.

"Step back." The man said gruffly, scaring Rachel (yet again) and making her jump away. She shrunk behind Dara and hid behind her pink head. Dara deflated against the chair with difficulty, swallowing down the urge to retort something back, something rude and probably inappropriate.

It was Quinn's impulse, and it didn't belong in Dara, especially when the man was about to pierce her with a big ass needle.

The man slid in closer, the wheels of his chair squeaking along the floor as he adjusted himself. Dara eyed him distastefully, her gaze flickering from him to the needle in his hand. Dara took a deep breath and looked away, momentarily confused with the smell of beef in the air.

"Hold still." The man grunted, but it came out in more of a gruffly slur - much like a cave man, and thus, helped his overall image. Dara sighed and tried to remain still, even when he placed his gloved hand on her cheek and put the machine like needle near her face. She almost screamed - but again, that was Quinn's duty - but Dara just took another breath and kept her inner squirming to herself.

She closed her eyes and - pinch - it was over. She stayed silent for a moment longer, keeping her eyes closed. Then opened her eyes incredulously. The man was already putting away the needle, snapping away the little briefcase and rolling his chair away. The pad of her finger searched across her nose and located the round metal bud, rolling it across her finger pad.

Dara blinked. "That's it?" She realized her voice was an octave higher than it usually was, and sounded suspiciously like Quinn. So with effort, she dropped her voice. "No strapping me to a gurney or giving me a bullet to bite?" The man only grunted.

"No." The man said, and for a moment, Dara thought that was it and they would be moving on, but then he dropped his pen and turned around to her again. "Keep it in for two months."

Dara first had to struggle with the fact that the man had spoken above an animalistic growl, but when the information started to settle in, her mouth dropped open. "I have to keep this in for two months?" She glanced at Rachel worriedly and felt a small flutter of panic in her stomach. That wasn't how Santana said it would work! Why in the hell did she trust her, anyway? "And if I can't?"

The man didn't even turn around, and for a moment, she was certain she hadn't actually said anything. Or maybe the words had just bounced off him like cotton balls, or went somewhere else entirely, because he was just _sitting_ there. But before Dara could snap, the man shrugged slowly and turned around. His voice reached her as he called back in a gruff voice. "Reopen it with a needle."

Her eyebrows pulled together and she stared blankly at his back. Reopen it with a needle. Right. She just remembered why she hates Santana so much. Her fingers curled around the edge of her seat and dug into the plastic, and for a moment she thought she may rip it off, but when her frustration ran out of her, she let out a groan and settled back the chair.

Her parents obviously weren't the most attentive or observant parents in the world, but they would surely notice a metal bud sticking out of her nose. But of course, she could take it out, as long se she reopened it with a needle.

While Dara mentally mourned for the loss of her logical thinking, she cautiously dodged the most obvious choice: of just letting the hole close and be done with it. Obviously the nose ring was not an important factor in her life, and if it posed a problem for her, then surely, she had no other choice than to remove it. But as her fingers trail the diamond in her nose, she couldn't help but admit that she liked it.

Quinn could never like something like this. She wasn't allowed to. She couldn't even wear _bracelets_. But this fit Dara, and it fit her perfectly. It was no longer for the purpose of getting Rachel's attention, although, by the looks of it, it definitely did.

No, but Dara wanted it now, and though, reasonably, keeping it wouldn't make sense, she was already becoming very prone in being someone that didn't make very reasonable decisions.

"Wow." Rachel breathed and Dara lifted her head, raising an eyebrow. Her interest perked up and her chest swelled, suddenly eager to hear what Rachel had to say. "It looks great." Rachel said, smiling brightly, her eyes fastening on the shiny diamond with increasing interest. Dara smirked. Santana was right; Rachel probably would want a bedazzled girlfriend.

"Thanks." Dara said softly, raising an eyebrow up at Rachel, "But I didn't see you as one of those who likes piercings." Dara teased.

Rachel lifted one shoulder into a halfhearted shrug, "I'm not, usually." she said quietly, her eyes flickering over to the man in the chair. "But it really does look good on you. I'm not sure why I didn't see it before, but now that it's on you, I really can't see you without it." Rachel smiled. "Isn't that weird?"

Dara shrugged, her lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. "I don't think so." In fact, she knew exactly what Rachel meant; it pretty much summed up the last year and a half for Quinn. It all started with her noticing it, finding that little sparks in her stomach, and then suddenly, she couldn't see a life without Rachel anywhere in her head.

But that would surely be regarded as a little weirder than what Rachel had said.

But really, no weirder than this. "Yo Dara? You here?" A loud and obnoxious voice filled the room. It was, of course, recognizable. "If you bailed, I swear to your little Jesus that I'll nail you to one of these chairs." Dara stiffened and felt a little bloom of panic in her chest. God, of course Santana would find her now.

Rachel was looking at her with a startled expression, her eyes flickering to the opening doorway. Dara tried not to let her panic show up on her face, playing an innocently confused expression.

She couldn't let Rachel see Santana, which would blow her cover entirely. She couldn't let it end like this; it would be too embarrassing and cruel.

With a quick smirk she grabbed Rachel's hand and entwined their fingers (though it wasn't entirely necessary) and tugged her into a standing position. Rachel stumbled a little and looked over to the flickering shadows coming closer.

"Who is that?" Rachel whispered, the hint of terror in her voice becoming all the more evident with her widening eyes. Dara opened her mouth, but couldn't answer her. Instead, she found an open doorway leading to somewhere promising, or so she hoped. It was labeled _EXI_T, so she would take her chances. But if it ended up being a room full of dead people, than she was really going to be upset.

For now, however, it was looking to be a better choice than letting Santana catch up with them.

"Come on." Dara whispered, leading an increasingly skittish Rachel out of the room. Rachel's fingers tightened around Dara's, and she fell into a short jog beside Dara's large stride. They skidded out of the building, egged on by Santana's death threats, all spoken in Spanish.

She didn't know what she was saying, but by the look on Rachel's face, she could guess they were getting to be very creative.

"Oh my." Rachel whispered as a loud sound echoed from inside the building. There was a crash and then some audible cursing and it became evident that Santana was getting into a fight with that big zombie man. "Who is that?" Rachel asked again, her voice cracking on the last note.

"Um..." Dara hummed, still trying to get Rachel as far away as possible. "my guess would be that she is someone. In a tattoo shop. Who was looking for me." Dara bit her lip and nodded, looking back over to Rachel's expecting expression with a smirk, feeling it widen when the girl stomped her foot.

"Dara! This is no joking matter!" Rachel exclaimed, resisting the pull of her hand. Luckily, Dara was stronger, pulling her a good ten inches before Rachel flat out rebelled, coming to a full stop and working her whole weight on where she stood. "No, I refuse to let you blow this off lightly! That woman was saying very mean things to you, and- and it wasn't nice at all!"

Dara raised an eyebrow. "Rachel," She said slowly, a small smile growing on her lips. "it was just a friend. I swear. She's not going to try and kill me, or do whatever she was screaming in Spanish." Rachel narrowed her eyes skeptically, a sincere concern swirling in her brown eyes.

"Then why did we have to leave so quickly? And I may not have very many friends, but I know - or, or at least I hope they don't threaten each other like that." Rachel swallowed and a small blush bloomed in her cheeks, but she didn't look away. Lifting her head, the defiance was still clear in her eyes and somewhere deeper, swirled with concern.

And though it was sort of ridiculous, Dara felt her heart skip a beat or two, "Rachel..." Dara said again, somewhat sweeter this time, a hint of fondness seeping into her voice. "I swear, nobody is going to kill me. I've bailed before, so she probably thinks I ditched. That or she wanted to see me get stabbed with a needle." Dara smiled indulgently when Rachel's eyes widened comically, quickly injecting the rest. "But, _mostly_, it was to see me get the nose ring."

_Maybe._

Rachel looked as though she would continue to argue, but with another loud crash sounding from inside the building, she yelped and moved to Dara's side again, sliding effortlessly beneath her arm and into the safe crook of her side. Evidently smug, Dara took that as a point against Finn Hudson.

Her lips quirk up into a smirk, "Okay, I think that's enough Lima Heights for you, today." Rachel didn't protest. She looked cute, peeking out from underneath her arm like that. Like a small puppy, or a helpless duckling. Involuntarily, she pulled her a little closer, settling herself comfortably, hip to hip with her skin brushing warmly. "Come on, Shorty. I'll walk you to your car."

For pride's sake, Rachel raised her chin, and set her jaw. "I'm sure I can walk myself, Dara." Rachel grumbled quietly, almost with a hope of not being heard. She set the tone in her voice, but her fingers made an impression themselves, clinging tightly (almost painfully) into Dara's arm.

"Maybe." Dara said lowly, a small smirk forming, "But I wouldn't want any trouble with the Child Protection Services for letting you go out alone."

Rachel just groaned.

* * *

><p>Rachel knew she was not always the most accepting person, and probably not the most understanding. She could be a little loud and abrasive at times, and such habits as picking out the faults in a person's choice (whether it be musical or not) didn't make her a very popular girl, but as a critique at heart, those sort of thoughts came to her naturally.<p>

Which is why Rachel struggled with herself now. She really wanted to understand this. She wanted to be as easy and light-hearted in this as she can be. Which is why she was trying to convince herself of Finn's innocence. She knows schedules can be busy, and surely, being a popular boy and the star quarter back, Finn Hudson must have very little time for himself. Especially with a girlfriend like Quinn Fabray. So, she supposes, she can understand how someone could forget a promise.

Though, in her defense, she _did_ give him a chance to refuse. It wasn't like she was demanding something of him. She had only asked for a ride home since her fathers were going out on another one of their surprise-dates again; while spontaneity might keep the 'spark' alive in a relationship, as her Daddy had worded it, it left her without a ride home.

But she was happy for them, and so that's why when her Daddy asked if she could get a ride home with a friend, Rachel agreed.

She didn't want to disrupt her parents date, and of course, what was she supposed to say to that? No? That it would be easier walking home then trying to convince someone to give her a ride home? There was a time and place for thoughts like that, and it definitely wasn't right before her fathers' date.

For a moment, she had considered asking Dara. But she had absolutely no way of contacting her, and after wasting several hours at the Supermarket, she reluctantly crossed the girl off her list. Which left only one other possibility.

So she had asked Finn. And to her surprise, and everlasting joy, he agreed. She had been so excited that she had even given him the ticket she had bought for her fathers; although, it had been cleverly disguised (or so she thought) as a ticket to get inside just in case he came a little early, and there was a definite chance that it could rain in the middle of September.

Luckily, it wasn't raining. But it was also an hour since her dance recital had ended, and Finn Hudson was nowhere to be seen.

A heavy feeling was settling in her stomach, and to her despair, it brought tears swelling in her eyes. Rachel huffed in frustration and tipped her head back, quickly wiping away the wetness with her fingers. And as a car drove by, she turned away and straightened out her silly uniform - the one with the frilly pink skirt and the black spandex covering almost everything else. She had made it herself, and while she had been proud of it at the time, now, she just felt silly.

Wrapping her arms around her waist, she sighed and prepared herself for the long walk home.

"Hey, Shorty!" Rachel jumped, and her heart lurched excitably in her chest, getting lost somewhere in the rush of motion.

Whirling around, Rachel delivered a most enthusiastic greeting, in which the pink-haired girl smiled in return and kicked the pedal to her bike foreward, rolling herself a little closer. Her voice became clearer, and the weariness from a few seconds ago all but vanished. "Oh good, it is you. I can't just call anyone Shorty, you know."

Rachel just smiled widely; she knew it was probably meant to be offensive, but still, she couldn't help but feel the small swell of emotion that came with the fact of the girl being happy to see her. And the fact that they were on a nickname basis - though, maybe insulting - made her just happy enough to manage a sincere, and somewhat giddy, smile.

The girl had finally rolled to a stop in front of her, the bike's front wheel skidding to the side when Dara pressed the brake a little too hard. The girl let out a quiet yelp and straightened herself up again, firmly reattaching her hands to the handlebars. She sat back on the seat with a huff, as though riding the bike such a short distance was a taxing activity in itself, and should never be attempted again.

It was almost too funny. A girl like _that_ on a baby blue bike. And by the looks of her riding ability, it looked as though she was only a beginner, too. A beginner who had just skipped the tricycle stage. Rachel tried to suppress her laugh with the pads of her fingers, but it came out anyway.

Dara raised an eyebrow, but upon seeing Rachel's expression, rolled her eyes and sighed. "Yes, I know. I can't ride very well. Thank you, though. For pointing it out." Dara huffed, disgruntled, and obviously a little upset with her severe lacking in talent; which, really, only served to spike up the humor of it all. But Rachel remembered her manners just in time to keep her from laughing (again).

"No, no," Rachel smiled and shook her head, taking a tentative step closer to the somewhat grouchy girl. "please don't think I was making fun of you. I was just..." Rachel felt a small blush burn in her cheeks with her next thought, "I took you to be more of a motorcycle girl." Rachel almost winced; she knew what it felt like to be subjected to stereotypes, and yet, there she was, following one.

Dara snorted, but nodded, looking down to her clothes as though they spoke for themselves. Which, they kind of did. The short-sleeved jean jacket, a ripped pair of tights, clad with a pair of dark jean shorts screamed out "rocker chick" and the nose ring just made her all the more terrifying. It was true to sight that Dara Caraway looked positively terrifying, and yet, there was something about her that made her less threatening. But inside of that frightening exterior was something warm and silly. And if she dared to think it, cute.

"Well, what about you?" Rachel blinked and looked back to Dara, surprised to see the cat-like smirk's return. "I never took you to be a girl who stayed out past seven, and here you are at..." Dara slipped out her phone and shook her head. "Seven thirty." The girl let out a low whistle. "You're a wild one, Berry."

Rachel was surprised too. "Seven thirty?" She exclaimed, leaning in closer and checking the woman's phone herself. Dara jumped in surprise, but Rachel was already clicking a button at random to see the screen flash again. And there it was, the three definite figures in a light, white glow. "I can't believe it..." Rachel exclaimed. "My dance recital ended an hour and a half ago."

This certainly wasn't new information and it's not like she expected Finn to sporadically show up at the announcement. She had accepted the fact that she will have to walk home. And yet, with Dara suddenly here and cracking jokes, wave after wave of agitation overcame Rachel. Finn was simply incompetent. Whether he forgot to come or simply didn't care enough to follow through with a previous commitment. He isn't here...and Dara is.

Dara raised an eyebrow, her fingers tightening on the handlebars as she leaned back into her seat, "Do you not have a ride home?" Rachel opened her mouth, feeling the words of an excuse accumulating in her mouth. But for some reason, when she finally spoke, it wasn't an excuse or a dismissal at all.

"A friend was supposed to pick me up. But..." Rachel trailed off, sub-consciously picking at her frilly pink skirt. "I guess he forgot." The trailing explanation was left out in her speech: the one about his busy schedule, and the grades he has to keep up, and that pretty blonde girlfriend that keeps him at bay.

Instead, Rachel just shrugged, lifting her gaze from the floor to Dara's face.

But she faltered at what she found there. Dara's eyes have lost the familiar warmth and tightened so that those softly tinted-green orbs hardened into something cold, dark, and detached. It was surprising to find something so cold on Dara but what surprised Rachel most was that...they seemed so _familiar_.

"Dara...?" Rachel asked uncertainly, feeling a sharp pinch in her stomach. Frantically, she searched for where she went wrong, what offensive thing she had let slip. But with another uncertain step foreword, Dara looked back to her, her eyes still swirling with a darkness that Rachel desperately tried to understand.

"He just forgot you here?" Dara asked harshly, her voice just an octave higher than usual; it wasn't the warm husky voice she had come to know, and this time, it definitely sounded familiar. Rachel struggled, but nodded anyway, leaning forward to look more easily into Dara's eyes, in search of something she couldn't place.

But the more she searched, the harder it was to see. Dara's eyes were already gaining its warm tint of green and the hardness of her expression had all but gone away. Dara let out a scoff and jerked her head away; but even as she did this, she was slowly relaxing back into her seat and rolling her shoulders stiffly, as though to remove a heavy burden. "Whatever. I'll just give you a ride home."

Rachel reared back in surprise, eyeballing her suspiciously, "Um..." Rachel started, her voice wavering a little. "Well, ho-how would you do that?"

Now it was Dara's turn to eye her suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I do have a bike..." Dara drifted off uncertainly, watching as Rachel's expression quickly become that of horror, something she quickly tried to cover. Dara raised an eyebrow, but slowly, she smirked. "What? You don't trust me?"

"Oh, no, it's not a matter of trust, I assure you." Rachel breathed out. But just as quickly, she took a small step backward. "I just would _really_ like to live past my thirties, preferably after I get nominated for a Tony. And Broadway has always been a dream of mine. If I die before I even leave _high school_, well then that would just be a tragedy! No one would ever see how I succeeded!" Rachel exclaimed, already sorrowful for the tragic death she never had.

"Jesus, Berry!" Dara laughed, holding her hands up as though that may stop the maddening words flying out of Rachel's mouth. "It's just a ride. I promise, it won't kill you." She shifted back to her seat and patted the handlebars. "Come on, Shorty, you can ride on my handlebars."

Rachel looked at her seriously, placing her hands stiffly on her hips. "Dara Caraway." Dara couldn't help but smile at that. "I will not be riding on your handlebars! You are not even a proficient rider, and to think that I would even consider riding-"

"I'll let you wear my helmet?" Dara asked hopefully, and Rachel frowned, visibly struggling with this new bartering piece. Sensing a hint of weakness, Dara slipped off the small backpack and ripped open the sack, pulling out a bright pink helmet. But it wasn't just bright pink; it was loaded with tiny stickers. Golden star stickers.

Rachel weakened. She fought down the sudden urge to touch it; there were just _so many_ stars. "B-but why..." Rachel struggled to clear her voice again. "Why aren't you wearing it?"

Dara looked surprised. "This?" She said, pointing to it incredulously, "Oh, no. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing this." She smirked and lowered the helmet, swinging it playfully towards Rachel, waiting for her to give in. Rachel looked disgruntled, but the wind was already out of her sails, and it only took a long pause before she finally turned around and snatched the helmet away.

"If I die." Rachel warned, pointing a threatening finger to Dara's face. The girl only smirked and watched as she slipped the helmet onto her head, clicking it together and adjusting it quickly. She had to admit, it fit perfectly. "Well, looks like you'll be seen with it, anyway." Rachel added a little snippily, slipping carefully onto the precarious balance of the two handlebars.

Past has proven that Rachel was never a very balanced person, nor has she been especially graceful. Who could really be surprised to find that Rachel falls the moment she sits between the handlebars?

But just as she felt the pinch of terror an experienced faller always gets as they slip, two careful hands slipped around her hips and adjusted her new seat, cautiously straightening out her crinkled pink skirt and balancing her added weight. A warm body pressed against her back and Rachel's breathe caught, feeling her friend's chin rest lightly against her shoulder. Her heart practically stops dead in her chest.

"Maybe..." The girl said lowly, her breath fanning against her skin, and effectively jump-starting Rachel's heart into a frenzied race, "but I wouldn't mind being caught dead with you." she said, hopefully being playful.

Rachel bit her lip, and oddly enough, felt sort of flattered, if not flustered, by her friend's choice of words. "Well..." Rachel cleared her throat, and hoped to God that her voice was stronger than she felt. "Let's hope that's not necessary." She said, her voice all but calm. But when she felt Dara's laughter against her back, she managed a small smile.

Dara's comforting weight soon disappeared, however. "Don't worry, Shorty. You're not going to fall." Rachel grimaced, but didn't contradict her friend, her fingers digging painfully into the cold metal bars. The weight shifted and her stomach rolled, her heart fluttering madly in her chest.

Dara straightened the bike back out and sat down, slowly moving it foreword. But that's as far as Rachel could watch, her eyes fluttering closed as the rest of the motions occurred outside her eyelids.

The sound of the metal gear clicking was somehow even _more_ frightening with her eyes closed. But, while she was waiting for the fall, the bike suddenly propelled foreword and a pleasant wind brushed through her hair, her stomach bursting into a wild flurry of butterflies. Her eyes opened in a flash and the whole world turned sideways, the hanging lights becoming a white blur as they came rounding down another hill.

"Oh my god!" Rachel exclaimed, her fingers digging helplessly into the metal bars. But a breathless excitement was rising inside of her, increasing with every click from the metal gear, blurring the world again. How Dara was doing this, Rachel would never know, but she didn't dare ask as she lost her voice in another breathless, excited whoop.

It was only after a few hills did Rachel realize she had forgotten to give Dara the directions to her house, and while it seemed important, and Dara definitely wasn't going the right way, she didn't correct her; instead, she enjoyed the crazy thrashing of her heart and the fluttering in her stomach as they turned on another street.

She was laughing, somewhere along the lines of giddiness and hysterics, but it was only when they were halfway down the hill did she recognize the two figures that seemed to zoom past her. She managed to look behind her, smiling and waving madly at the surprised faces of Mercedes and Kurt, the two watching her with wide-eyes and gaping mouths.

And while Dara couldn't possibly have known that Rachel was friendless, or that both Mercedes and Kurt had repeatedly slapped away her offer of friendship, Rachel couldn't help but feel the burst of pride within her when Dara turned around as well - making sure the two saw her - and smirked. As though to flaunt something they had so easily shot down.

Rachel found herself laughing again, smiling giddily to herself because it seemed as though Dara was becoming a friend to her, and she never realized just how much she wanted that. And as Dara turned another street, her laughter trailing behind her even as her two gaping classmates disappeared around the corner and beyond.

* * *

><p>Dara groaned, her fingers rubbing soothing circles into her wrists, again. They were still hurting, and it's been <em>hours<em> since she dropped Rachel off at her house. She was tired and her body was aching. She didn't know riding a bike would be so _difficult._ Though, really, she should have known better. She's never ridden a bike before, her only experience being, before today, was riding on her sister's handlebars when she was young.

Frannie had always liked riding her around; she always said it was easier with someone on the handlebars. It made it more fun. Now she can kind of guess what she meant, though, she wished it didn't hurt so much remembering it.

Dara sighed and absently grabbed the keys underneath the mat, coming to a stop near Santana's front door. The rest came from muscle memory, sliding the key in, jiggling the handle door and shutting it again, stuffing an old block behind it so no one else could come in behind her. She had gotten the routine locked in her brain in the early stages of her friendship with Santana, when her biggest fear was being seen by one of her father's spies.

But now, there was really no need to worry. No one knew Dara. That's the good thing about Dara. She had no parents and thus no overbearing father. She could do whatever she wanted.

With a breath, she jumped up the stairs, moving quickly to the familiar door with the 'KEEP OUT' sign hovering underneath the door knob. Regardless of the warning, she gently opened the door and stepped inside.

Only to regret it instantly. Dara froze, wincing when the door clicked softly behind her, bringing the attention of the bright and bubbly blonde on Santana's bed. The girl stared at her, cocked her head, and smiled.

Dara shot a helpless look to Santana, who appeared to be just waking up, laying spread eagle across her bed with ruffled, lazy clothes and unimaginable bed hair.

But just as Dara was starting to think of excuses, Brittany's blank stare became a beam, her lips stretching into an incredible grin, "Hi Quinn!"

Dara blinked and reared back; she almost looked behind her to see if the 'real' Quinn Fabray had walked into the room with her. But it was unmistakable where Brittany's attention was, with her piercing eyes staring straight at Dara, her smile sparkling. Santana appeared to be in no better shape for this turn of events, blinking and struggling to get up from the tornado of blankets surrounding her.

"Damn it Santana." Dara exhausted with a sigh, walking over to the other side of the room in hopes of avoiding the somewhat unnerving stare of her friend. "You promised me you wouldn't tell anyone!" Dara shot a nervous glance to Brittany, who only beamed at her from her spot on the bed. "Did you at least make sure she won't tell anyone?"

Santana finally managed to get into a sitting position, her face already set into a scowl and her eyes hard and irritated. "Okay, first thing? I never promised you anything, Pinky." The top of Dara's lip began to curl, feeling the tendrils of her control slipping away. But Santana continued on. "And I have no idea how she knows. I didn't tell her anything." Santana stared for a moment longer at her friend, scrutinizing, watching, but when Brittany didn't speak up, she just shrugged and fell back into her bed, swallowed up by blankets.

Brittany's eyes rose again and Dara met them. But there was no glint or malicious intent, unlike any other surface, she was clear and presented just what was underneath. She just smiled and continued drawing in her coloring book. And though it made no sense, it settled between them and the tension left the room. It simply became fact that Brittany knew; although the facts of how she had connected the pieces of Quinn and Dara will always be unclear. It sort of made sense, there were a lot of things about Brittany that she couldn't even begin to explain.

So Dara just let out a long, held in breath and tentatively found her way to the bed herself. She quietly lied down beside Santana's scrawny spread-eagle formation, smiling a little when Brittany scooted closer, lying her head against her stomach. It was sort of a sweet moment, all of them awkwardly conjoined, touching through fabric and tentative skin. Santana's foot occasionally tapped on Dara's forehead, her arm wrapped around Brittany's leg while the blonde snuggled into the dark, leather fabrics on Dara's stomach.

They all fell together like puzzle pieces that never fit before; it made Dara wonder why it was so easy to be this girl.

The girl with pink hair and a nose ring; the girl with no family and an adopted name; the girl who was supposed to be her Mr. Hyde, the one that got everything that the goody Christian girl could never get.

But Dara was starting to think that she was wrong. Mr. Hyde was supposed to be an angry man, a man of little sense or reason, of pure emotion and carnal need. So why was Dara so easy to be? Why was it so difficult to be Quinn? Why, whenever she was forced to be that Christian cheerleader, did she feel that hard, irrational anger inside of her; even in the smallest of problems, it happens, and it burns her up until she can't see clearly.

There was no doubt what Quinn would have done had she been the one to walk in and find Brittany sitting there, mysteriously knowing the secret. She would have grit her teeth, gotten angry, and stormed out. She may have even cut Santana off for a few days. She could have done many things, but what she would have _never_ done was shrug and sit down.

Quinn wouldn't have let herself be knitted into this group of misfits. Quinn simply doesn't fit while Dara fits in perfectly with this imperfect family.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this: letting Dara become something separate and distinguished. She was very quickly becoming two different people, and the middle girl she was before was disappearing.

There was no more 'normal'. Quinn certainly isn't normal, but neither is Dara. For she was supposed to be the alter ego.

All that is clear is that there are two sides of her: the Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde. But Dara was starting to wonder just _who_ was Dr. Jeckle was and who was Mr. Hyde.

* * *

><p>Wow. That is a long chapter, aint it? Remember when I promised that they would get shorter? Well, that was a lie! So they won't. :)<p>

I'm actually surprised how this chapter turned out. When I wrote it the first time, it had gone in a different way entirely, though I have to admit, I like it the second one a little more than the first. It took twice as long, though. Eh, I hope you all enjoyed it, anyway.

And please, don't be afraid to review. It makes me happy.

Oh yeah, and this is beta'd by my twin, InsaneTwin16, (ha.) if there are any problems, you may bug her about it. :)


	4. Friends At Last

**Author**: that would be me

**Disclaimer**: If I owned Glee, everything would be different.

**Summary**: You've got the point, Dara is Quinn, and I'm building off the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, so if some things seem a little off then it's because it's supposed to be.

This is a longer chapter, and there is this one point where it may seem like it drags on, but I hope it's enjoyable to read anyway. This is pretty much Dara and Rachel centric. Quinn will be in the next chapter.

**AN**: And this whole story will vary between T and M, I'm just wondering which one I should change it to.

I'm sorry this took so long, but life sucks and I'm just really busy and UGH.

* * *

><p>Rachel was actually very excited to go to Glee today. At any other time, this would have been the expected, being one to enjoy the spotlight and relish in her peers adoration, no matter how reluctant it may appear to be. But today her excitement was not for the club, nor was it for the stage. In fact, it had very little to do with singing at all. For once, it was for the small number of members inside her club.<p>

Sure, she loved glee club. It just wasn't what everyone else loved it for, it wasn't a family or the community Mr. Schue had tried so hard to make it seem. It was for singing, it was for the spot light, it was for her voice. But, today, it was different.

She knew she wasn't the easiest person to get along with, some people simply couldn't handle the honesty she was brought up with, which was fine. Honesty was something you had to adapt to. She understood their frustrations, but never before did have an opportunity quite like this before, where she can finally prove - if even a little bit - that they are wrong. That her previous friendless status had been changed, she wasn't quite as unbearable as everyone believed her to be.

It probably sounded shallow, and while Rachel could deny any claim of being superficial, even she knew that her intentions were bordering on such thin lines. But today, she didn't mind very much, because she had something to brag about, something that wasn't a part of her or merely an extension of what she could do, she had _someone_ to brag about. And by the name of Barbra, she was going to brag.

With a quiet breath, she gathered her bearings and walked through the choir room, leveling her eyes to the one seat in front of her. She forced herself not to look at the two gossipers in the back that sat across from each other, avidly chattering to themselves; but the moment she took the first few steps inside, their whispers fell into a quiet hush.

Rachel obviously wasn't very popular, that much was clear, but as she walked to her seat and forced herself to sift through her already determined sheet music, she could understand why all of those Cheerleaders worked so vigorously to keep their spots on top. It must feel heavenly to know that people are fascinated with you, to be the source of excited whispers everywhere.

She's never liked listening to people whisper about her, but as Kurt and Mercedes turn to each other and break out into a more excited conversation, it didn't sound like the cold and demeaning whispers she had heard many times before. As their quiet whispers got louder, she strained her eyes to the notes and key signatures of her sheet music, but her attention was all but on the little black designs; she was alert and awake and trained expertly to listen to their words and the quiet nuances in conversation.

But before she could hear anything, there was a quiet break in the conversation, the two stalling for time before slowly lifting to their feet, wandering quickly over to her and simultaneously settling down beside her. Her heart quickened to a near flutter and Rachel bit her lip to try a hide her smile.

"You have some fessing up to do, Hot Mama." Rachel's head snapped up and looked sharply between the two mirroring divas, feigning with surprise. She felt her heart pick up in rapid excitement, this having be the very first conversation she would actively be invited to, without so much a word on her part to force it.

Rachel tried to hide the small smile on her face as she flew through things to say. She thought of her possibilities: should she jump right out and say it? Or should she try to avoid it, be coy about it. But as she looked into the pair of eyes, she found exactly what she was going to say.

She forced herself to seem as nonchalant as possible, ducking her head down so her eyes could rove over her music again. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." she said with just a hint of arrogance, just enough to make it sound like a lie.

It may seem sort of petty to try to drag out a conversation as long as possible, but Rachel was never one to be willingly included, so no one can really blame her for wanting to enjoy a new first, of sorts.

Mercedes rolled her eyes but Kurt used his friend's distraction to jump in. "We saw you yesterday. With that..._girl_." Kurt whispered, and though the inflection in his voice was clear, the distinction of being negative or not was somewhat muddy.

Rachel's eyes snapped up to look at his and her lips formed a small frown. "Yes...well," Rachel answered slowly, her eyes flickering across Kurt's expression, expecting to see one of his signature hanging lines, an insult baited and ready for her on the end. She hadn't quite expected that happening, but it really shouldn't have surprised her. "She is my friend."

Despite Kurt's expression, she still sounded prideful, her chin tilting up and her voice coloring with possession. Kurt raised an eyebrow and looked at her curiously, and it was just enough for Rachel to slip into her bragging rights. "We are rather close." Kurt's eyes narrowed and after another look-over, he smiled a thin, close-lipped smile.

"Right." Kurt said in that way that so was very him, clipped and self-assured. His eyes flickered over to his gossip twin and Rachel's head followed them, jerking to meet Kurt's mirrored expression. "I'm sure you are. But where did you find her?"

Rachel frowned and turned back to meet Kurt, very quickly becoming displeased with how this conversation was going. "How did I find her?" She said lowly, the confusion making her voice sound more strained than usual. This wasn't exactly the girl talk she was hoping for.

Kurt waved her confusion away, "You know, did you hire her, or something?" He said casually, crossing his legs at the ankles and cocking his head. He turned the rest of his conversation to Mercedes, "They have that now, you know. Friends for Hire. I know that kid from Caramel High, the one with the awful perm? He hired one of the girls to go to Junior Prom with him."

Mercedes shot him a look. "You mean a prostitute." She said flatly, her eyes flickering to Rachel with a distinct look. And though Rachel was at a complete loss, she knew _that_ look, the one of accusation, the look that pinned something to her; and with that, blood burned in her cheeks, the realization all but booming in her head.

"Dara is not a prostitute!" Rachel exclaimed loudly, her voice booming across the room and leaving an even louder silence in its wake. Kurt raised his eyebrows, his eyes flickering up to Rachel's face, and as though she was frightened by her own voice, she lowered her volume to a quiet, angry whisper. "She is a friend, whom I got myself, believe it or not. Not everyone needs the help of bribes or payment to persuade someone to befriend them."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Well obviously not. Not everyone has such disastrous personalities, and some of us actually co-exist with the rest of society." Kurt said, sounding almost indifferent to his words, as though they weren't structured to harm her; and had she been deaf, she might have actually been able to convince herself that he wasn't being meant, but - thankfully - with the full use of her hearing, the obvious hint of their cruelty was something she couldn't overlook.

Her heart already felt heavy, pounding painfully, fueling the angry spew of words from her mouth. "Well, I don't doubt that, Kurt. Should you see any of them, be sure to tell me about it." Rachel snapped, slapping her folder closed and standing up with every intention to storm out of the room. But her intention never made it past the second raising.

"Oh come on, Rachel, I was only teasing." She heard Kurt's voice, and though she was irritated and angry, she huffed and slowed herself to a near stop, still facing towards the door. She could still hear Kurt faintly, "I promise I'll be nice. I think we are due for some girl-chatting, don't you think?" He accompanied his voice with a smile, and if his intention was to confuse Rachel, than it worked.

Rachel faltered and after a moment of struggle, she lost the battle and hunched her shoulders, turning around to face Kurt. "Well, alright." Rachel said quietly, dropping her chin as she idly found her way back to her seat. "But I really didn't hire Dara from anywhere. She is my friend."

"Yes, alright." Kurt waved that away with his hand. "But can you really blame me for wondering? I mean, a girl like _that_ just doesn't befriend a girl like you." He paused and tilted his head, his eyes flickering over to Rachel to analyze the mildly offended expression on Rachel's face before half-heartily amending it. "No offense."

Before Rachel could even utter a sound, Mercedes intervened. "Wait. Hold up." Rachel sighed and turned to the somewhat louder diva, arching an eyebrow, admittedly trying to parrot Dara, as she had done it many times before. "Just how long have you two been hanging out?"

The question made her wilt, if only a little. Nervously smoothing out her skirt, she tucked herself in to the seat between the two of them. While her schedule had left her without many opportunities, she still felt like the friendship she had built with Dara was sturdy, and growing more so, even without the comfort of seeing her. Not many people would believe such ideals, that absences made the heart grow fonder.

"Well..." She felt herself dragging out the letters, and with a quick tuck of her hair, she pushed out the rest. "I've only really hung out with her two other times," With Mercedes _of course_expression and Kurt's roll of his eyes, Rachel felt the rush of words in her throat and the tight squeeze in her chest with a near desperate desire to explain herself, to fight off their implications. "But I've known her for at least two weeks, if not a little bit more. She is a friend to me. I'm not just making this up."

"Of course you're not, sweetie." Kurt assured gently, leaning over to pat her hand, as though it was a matter of consolation, of comforting her; Rachel's throat tightened, and before his fingertips could brush against hers, she moved them away.

"Well, I'm not." Rachel reiterated clearly, jutting her chin out and looking them evenly in the eye. She just hoped her voice sounded a bit stronger. She knew Dara was a friend, and she had no reason to doubt her, but she couldn't help the small twinge of distress that always came with someone's doubt, finding a small chink in her armor and setting herself up for defeat. Her fingers curled into her skirt, becoming small fists. "I can prove it."

Kurt raised an eyebrow and his eyes flickered to Mercedes, and if it wasn't for that distinct look, shared between two familiar expressions, the wave of anger wouldn't have risen again. Her voice rose again and her eyes flashed hotly. "Yes, I'll prove it. Ask me a question."

Kurt's expression didn't even flicker. "Any question? Well, that could range from what's her favorite color to what's her most intimate memory." was the dry remark. "This is silly, why don't you just invite her over? Give us a chance to talk to her."

But as both Kurt and Mercedes turned to look at her expectantly, all Rachel could do was staring blankly at them, her voice failing her in a time of need. Kurt raised an eyebrow and motioned his hand again, bringing Rachel's eyes down to his raised palm which had lifted sometime in his speech.

After a while of helpless staring, Kurt sighed. "You do have her phone number, right?"

Rachel opened her mouth, her eyes widening as a hint of desperation entered her. She didn't even know the girl's middle name - the most important one in her opinion. She wouldn't be the person she was if she had any other name other than that Rachel Barbra Berry.

"Rachel?" Rachel shook her head, looking quickly away so that the two divas couldn't see the clear frustration in her eyes.

But her disappointment fell short only to her pride, which remained her only saving grace in times of awkwardness. "Of course I do, Kurt. As I said, I am her friend." With Kurt's expectant expression, Rachel took another breath and gathered her bearings, slipping from her seat and grabbing her forgotten folder. "I just so happened to have forgotten my phone today. Now, if you'll excuse me, I don't feel much up to singing today."

And with that, she picked herself up and walked through the door, ignoring both the confused muttering of Mr. Schuster and the curious glances of Tina and Artie as they followed behind him. She didn't even look up when Finn walked by her, his excited voice going right over her radar.

She was power walking to somewhere, though - admittedly - she had no idea where; all she really knew was that she was going to find Dara, reaffirm her friendship, and above all, get her damn number.

* * *

><p>Quinn puckered her lips, leaning a little closer to her car's review mirror as the tip of her lipstick touched her bottom lip. Sliding it back and forth with measured carefulness, Quinn rubbed her lips together, spreading them with a dark and bloody red. Tentatively, she leaned back and reviewed her work.<p>

"Oh, darn." Quinn muttered, quickly leaning forward again to remove the red mark from her tooth. She was never very good at these things, applying make up and such; and this time she didn't have an older sister or Santana to do it for her. The only tips she had were the tips that her mother gave her when she used to dress her up for family pictures.

Obviously being a little unprepared, she decided to get a little help. Quinn looked over to the paper again, absently straightening out the old crinkled edges. She had cut it out from her mother's old advice column, the one from her favorite magazine. Hopefully, her mother wouldn't notice, but if she did, who would expect it from her?

_Apply the base, then carefully, the lipstick. Gently, with the tip of your finger, dab the gloss across the bottom and then spread._

"Check." Quinn smirked triumphantly and settled back into the car seat. "See Quinn? You can do this stuff without help." Her eyes roved slowly over her transforming features. She was always one to need a little encouragement when trying something new, and what's so wrong with providing it for herself? Tilting her mirror again, she gently dabbed her bottom lip with just the tip of her finger again. This wasn't so hard.

Oddly enough, she didn't have the sort of confidence that Dara had with jumping into something new; it still gave her the nervous squirming in her stomach and the looming feeling that her parents would disapprove. Especially now with the addition of the nose ring, adding the painful reopening of her nose hole to the change.

Her fingers would always tremble and she'd always end up waiting for the last minute to reopen it, somehow feeling stronger with the pink wig on. And this time was no exception. She waited for the last minute, feeling her courage build with every new layer of her second identity.

It wasn't until she was staring at Dara's darkly contrasting features did the smirk pull on her lips; she leaned forward again, reviewing the small hole as she blindly picked the needle from the passenger seat and brought it to her tender skin.

It hurt, of course, like any needle would. But the feeling of resolution that came afterward would always win over the frantic sparks of pain that fled elsewhere. Because with a little click and twist, the nose ring was set in place and Dara had officially settled in, smirking back at her.

With a hum, Dara absently roved her eyes over her 'Rachel Berry' schedule, though she already knew what sort of event occupied Rachel's time today. It was an easy day, by Rachel's standards at least, seeing as there was no extra class or recital after Glee, but it still left Dara with a large gap of time to try and fill. She would like to think that she wasn't so clingy as to wait outside the choir room for Rachel to finish, so instead, she drove to the parking lot of the Supermarket to wait out her time somewhere else. Because the location made all the difference.

Dara rolled her eyes. Honestly, if she was working to not look clingy, she probably shouldn't have made a Rachel Berry calendar to begin with, or Dara for that matter. But she was here now so, careful to lock the door, she slipped out of the car and walked out. She walked about ten feet before she decided it would be safer to stay in one place, cautiously eyeing the man barking at the corner of the street.

Carefully avoiding his attention, she found a broken down car in the parking lot and, a picture of LimaHeights. Coming to a stop in front of it, she hesitatingly placed the palm of her hand against the roof, the heat of metal instantly meeting her skin. In a humming purr, like a cat in the sun, she let herself slid over the hood and settled comfortably on hot metal, soaking up the warmth of the sun.

Fifteen minutes later and still not long enough, she was interrupted with a faint shuffling, but before Dara could recognize the sound as a motion, a voice brought her attention away to the boots on the ground. Her eyes made the long climb up the man's denim clad legs to the black Slipknot t-shirt, the stubble of a beard on his chin, to finally his pierced eyebrows, furrowed just above two calm grey eyes.

"Hey." He said, and though seemingly normal, a small instinct told her to move away. Despite this however, she remained impassive, only moving to tap her fingernails on the car's beat up roof, which stopped upon the man's quick eyes, lowered to gaze with amusement at her small act of retaliation. His smirk grew.

Dara's stomach squirmed again, but she waited, keeping her cool eyes locked on him; but after a few seconds, it was clear he wasn't going to make another move to interact, his gray eyes remaining nearly as dull as the color they attained.

She found herself very quickly loosing patience, or maybe her indifference, and only in a second's time, lost it all in a single exhale of breath. "Can I help you with something?" she said, her voice void of any interest or emotion, and though she knew it was a fake mask of her voice, it gave her strength anyway.

Slowly, the man's lips quirked, "That's my car." he said, nodding over to beat up thing they were both occupying. Dara raised an eyebrow and turned to stare at it, her fingers still poised against its buckled roof. She felt another instinct squirm inside, telling her to get up and walk away.

The man looked to be six feet, and very skinny, his arms appearing almost spider-like with the black tattoo winding around his pale skin; his short raven hair was spiked into a mow hawk and several piercings decorated his long face, aged accordingly, with deep hollow cheekbones and a thick short beard shaved only to his chin.

And though all these factors would have caused Quinn to move, she found herself rebelling against her influence.

Dara raised her head and met the man's eyes, her lips curling into a smirk. She had never been one to banter or tease the line of safety but Dara was someone completely different, and when the opportunity arose, she found herself taking it. "It looks like shit." she said through her smirk, watching as the man blinked, his eyebrows rising in surprise. But before Dara could wonder if she made a stupid mistake, his lips widened and the bored gray eyes glinted.

The man chuckled and shook his head, and with these movements, the car dipped down, registering his weight. "Yeah, it's kind of a wreck. Got a hole on the other side, too. It's a little rough but it promises a good ride." The man paused and seemed to think in the silence, raising a pierced eyebrow, and all at once, his smile became wicked. "And so do I, babe. Whenever you want it."

And for once, Quinn's impulse had proven to be golden, and the missed opportunity laid heavily in her mind. Her upper lip curled involuntarily. "That's supposed to impress me? You just compared yourself to a piece of shit on the road. Has that ever worked before?"

The man smirked. "Nope. But I've never seen a girl like you around here, and definitely not sitting on the hood of my car." His smile was small but it showed his small teeth and the long curves of his canines, a wolfish smirk. "And it _is_ a good ride."

Shouldering the car, she pushed herself up. "Well, congrats. You got it back."

The man laughed. "Oh come on, you don't have to leave just yet. My car is just as good with conversation." His voice was a laugh, and while such a leer would only compel her to do the opposite, the moment she wanted to move away, the longer she stayed, her heel digging into the loose gravel as she battled with herself. It took a total of three seconds for Dara to gather herself and step away, moving slowly back to the car, a figure of sleekness, she settled against the door like an agitated cat.

"So do you often come here?"

Dara cocked an eyebrow but didn't answer.

"Do you like coming here?"

She hid a small smile. There was always a pleasure in being a bitch; dealing out punishment to people that didn't entirely deserve it. It was a trait she associated with Quinn, but maybe she could accept it as herself every once and a while.

"Are you always like this?"

"No." Dara smiled, a small smile, just barely lifting the corners of her lips. "I'm usually much worse."

Apparently, that was what the man wanted to hear, because with a laugh, settled more comfortably against the car. "So you don't want my company?" She sent a side glance at him and then slowly looked away, unwillingly smiling a little wider. He was confident and she always liked confidence; she even looked for it. It didn't mean she was going to be any nicer, just a little more truthful.

"Not unless you're really a girl of about 5'1 or 5'2, with brown hair and brown eyes" Dara was her non-committal rebuttal, a small sly smile on her lips as she trained her eyes on the lazy traffic curling around the bend. Patiently, she ignored the man's grunt, a sound torn between confusion and surprise.

"Um..." The man drifted off, scratching absently at his scruffy chin beard. "Like her?" Dara almost didn't catch the words, but when they registered in her head, she frowned and looked back at him, her eyes making a trail from his confused face to his outstretched arm, and finally to his finger.

Which pointed directly to one determined looking Rachel Berry.

Dara felt her spine stiffen, her body straightening out as though someone had yanked some string on the top of her head; shock made it all the way through her bones, rattling her more than she cared to admit. Her heart lurched and her fingers clenched, an ecstatic smile stretched out on her lips.

But when Rachel's eyes locked on hers, her enthusiasm was not returned. Her eyes swirled and though they brightened in recognition, no emotion warmed her eyes or lifted the corners of her lips. Determination settled on her face, her jaw setting and her eyes narrowing, her pace increasing as her arms pumped up and down, her legs mimicking her crazy animated motions.

Dara very quickly lost her smile. Her eyes averted and ran over the situation with a little clearer, becoming frantic when Rachel's mouth didn't relax and her pace didn't slow, she warily reviewed the girl before her. Swallowing heavily, she took a small step back and felt herself reel. Was she angry? What would she be angry about? If she was angry, there was really only one logical reason why.

Dara's heart fluttered madly and her head whirled with a painful thought: _Oh god, does she know?_

The world seemed to tilt sideways. Her stomach rolled violently, but before she could collapse like a house of cards, she managed to compose herself, or what she hoped may appear to be composure. Bracing herself against the car, she reconciled her expression. There was a rational explanation for this: Rachel could simply be so excited to see her that she skipped over the natural emotional responses.

"So..." Dara almost jumped, her head snapping to the man beside her. "That the girl you are waiting for, huh?" His voice held judgment and it made the cold hand of dread in her stomach tighten, and after a wheel of thinking, she nodded helplessly. The man parroted her absently, "Uh-huh...well, you know. It really looks like she wants you for herself." he smiled, but was already taking a step away.

_Coward!_

Dara's eyes quickly bounced from Rachel to where the man was already slinking off to, and while he had been an irritating presence, she suddenly felt the urge to reach out and grab a hold of him, just so she wouldn't have to go through this alone. But he was already slinking out of her reach and her fingers curled around empty air.

She let out a grumbling whine and turned back to stare uneasily at Rachel, and fretted over the sudden lost of space. She watched her come to a smooth and calculated stop next to her, watched her chest heave a little heavier and the swallow of breath move down her throat.

"Hey, Shorty." she said uneasily and felt a sudden drop in her stomach when she didn't respond. "What are you doing here?"

Rachel took a deep breath and ran a hand through her wind-blown hair, seemingly preparing herself for a long-winded speech. But just as Dara was about to steel herself for the emotional onslaught that was seemingly inevitable, Rachel faltered and changed direction, coming at her in a different angle.

"Are we friends?" she blurted out and cringed, seemingly not expecting the sudden crack in her voice. But she made no move to take it back, her eyes lifting to stare widely into Dara's, biting nervously at her lower lip. Dara's lips parted, but no words came out, taking a breath to keep the quiet and confused whine from leaving her mouth.

She was asking if they were _friends_? Rachel didn't know who she really was, her cover wasn't blown, she was safe; she was so relieved, her heart started beating rapidly in reprieve, lodging itself somewhere in her throat. Though, as she thought more of it, she wondered why their friendship came into question in the first place. She sort of assumed being friends was obvious enough as it was.

She didn't expect any questioning on those terms, maybe when they started venturing into something _more_, but she figured the "friend zone" was still a pretty safe label to presume.

Apparently not for Rachel. "I wasn't just making it up, right? Because it sure felt like we were friends, with you giving me a ride home and all, and you seemed to really like me. And you call me Shorty, which while I clearly am not _that_ short, I see it as a more endearing nickname rather than an insult, and I think you see it that way too. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I would love to be your friend, and to possibly avoid any more confusion, or embarrassment like what I'm going through right now, I think it would be best to just give me the most honest, straight-forward answer you can manage. O-on whether or not you like me. And-"

"Rachel!" Dara exclaimed and made a grab for Rachel's arms, seeing them flail about into another wild gesticulation. "Rachel," she chuckled, finally catching hold of her elbow and gently coaxing her other arm, now motionless, into her hands. "_of course_ I'm your friend."

Rachel faltered and her mouth dropped open, her wordless questions swirling on the tip of her tongue as she struggled to speak them. "You are?" she managed to choke out, unable to hide her underlying bewilderment.

Dara smiled, but it was a small one, dimming in the corners. "Yeah, I am." Then tentatively. "Why wouldn't I be?" The moment the words left her, she realized she really didn't want to know the answer, knowing what the answer may be. She was afraid of the long stream of words that may pour out, the memorized list of her inadequacy; she was afraid of Quinn's words falling out of her own.

Rachel opened her mouth, to no doubt answer her question just as she predicted, but before a single word could pass, Dara covered her mouth. Rachel's eyebrows raised and her breathing hitched, spreading her warm breaths across her palm; a brush of her lips sent a voltage shock across her skin.

"There's no right answer here, Berry." Dara warned, her eyebrow rising just to enunciate her point, her fingers tightening a little more than necessary around her mouth. It was probably inappropriate and definitely stupid, but she indulged in the moment anyway, lingering for a moment too long as her skin grew hot from Rachel's warm breath, the pad of her index finger grazing across her lip as she pulled away; she let her hand drop, her fingers feeling cold without the intimate touch of skin.

Rachel just stared up at her with a thousand questions in her eyes, her curiosity bubbling inside, and yet, with an expression that made her look she may just burst, all she had to say was a quiet and awe-inspired whisper. "So we're friends, now?"

Dara chuckled and shook her head. "Yeah, Shorty, we're friends now." Rachel nearly squealed, her eyes glittering happily and it became evident that the only thing keeping the enthusiastic words to herself was her tightly closed lips, pressing into a happy smile and suppressing her excited ramble.

"Can I have your phone number?" she said quietly, still wildly hopeful and happy with these new (but sort of old) revelations. She was staring up at her with such wide excited eyes that there was really no way she could say no, even though she hadn't really thought about this part - the exchanging of numbers - and she couldn't help but get that twisting feeling in her stomach when she nodded, unable to shake off the feeling that she was making another mistake.

Because as Rachel fished out her phone and gave it to Dara with shaky fingers, she started tapping out the letters of Dara's name underneath Quinn's given phone number, which unfortunately, was an easily identifiable number to half of the McKinley population. But what else could she do? She has only one phone.

But Rachel didn't know that and Dara couldn't bring herself to stop; she wouldn't dare make up another phone number, either, or put some weird phone number in it and just apologize for it later. Because those wide happy eyes were looking at her and it made lying that much harder and sticking her neck out that much easier. So with a small smile, she handed Rachel's weird bedazzled phone back with Quinn's phone number saved in her contacts.

Dara sighed, smiling a little as her shoulders sagged against the man's beat up car. "Well, now that we've got that all fixed up, do you mind telling me what went this afternoon?" Rachel was still smiling, but her dark eyes flashed and her head tilted a little in confusion. "I think we left on a pretty good note the last time we saw each other." Dara elaborated, raising a hand to brush through the air, as though to push her words to Rachel, but even as the question left her tongue, something clicked in place. Her lips pursed. "Did someone say something to you?"

She swore, if it was Santana...

Rachel's eyes widened with understanding and the evident giddiness in her expression started to dim. "Oh, that." Rachel gave a small self-depreciating smile before shrugging. "I think you'll find that I am often known for my dramatics. Some friends of mine simply thought to make fun of me. They thought I hired you as a friend, or-or something..."

Dara's lips pursed, pressing firmly into a line of disapproval. She felt a muscle in her jaw flex. "Who said that?" she tried to keep her voice light and easy-going, but even she could hear the tight strain of agitation.

Rachel bit her lip, but her smile grew from the corners, her eyes swelling up with happiness again. "They're just some teammates of mi-" Rachel broke off suddenly, her eyes going wide and her bottom jaw dropping. "I am missing Glee right now!" Her arm jerked up and she stared wide-eyed at a painfully tacky watch, her eyes only widening more. "I have missed a considerable amount of it, too!"

Dara bit the inside of her cheek, more than a little put off by the idea of having to wait another half hour just to be with Rachel again. But she smiled all the same, sending off a departing sigh. "Well, go on then, get back to them." she said, but with another breath, her chest heaved out the rest, "Just don't let them give you an opinion of me that isn't true. Alright?"

Rachel absorbed the words seriously. "I won't." she whispered, loyalty and determination swelling in her eyes as though she had been asked to keep the world spinning for the rest of the year. Dara's chest warmed and she decided to bite back the rest of her speech, the small spew about how she can always come with her and scare those ungrateful Glee kids back into their rightful place.

Instead, she watched Rachel go with a small smile, biting the bottom of her lip as the girl turned back every few steps to wave at her, or just to look back. Canting her head to the side, she watched her walk away, all the way until she turned the corner and disappeared.

Softly, she sighed. Well...that's it. Another half-hour to waste...

Dara frowned, her eyebrows pulling together as her butt vibrated. Pushing up from the car, she managed to wiggle her fingers into her pant's pocket and retrieve her phone, blindly flipping it open and answering with a lazy, "Hello?"

There was a tick of silence and heavy breathing before Rachel's excited voice answered. "I am so glad you're my friend, Dara."

Dara barked out a laugh and fell back against the car, pressing the phone a little closer to her ear, her hand falling absently against her stomach as it fluttered. She sighed, "Yeah, me too, Shorty."

* * *

><p>Dara sighed and crossed her legs, her ankles brushing and her hands falling limply in her lap. Through the thick clad of her jeans, her muscles grew tight and an ache made its way to her bones. It hardly did her any good, but her fingers made an effort to reduce the strain, working gently into her jean clad calves to reach the muscles underneath.<p>

Cheerio's practice was still just as painful as it had always been, but it was starting to wear her down like never before, the added pressure of balancing two different lives was starting to really weigh on her shoulders. Dara (or rather, Quinn) was pressing into the dividing line between being the perfect daughter and the rebel teen. She had a schedule written out and posted on the side of her computer, a market time for dates and important matters for both Dara _and_ Quinn, and though it looked great on paper, it was becoming very difficult to follow them truthfully.

She was stuck trying to balance between cheerleading, a social life, and _this._

_This_ being something new and utterly inscrutable, something that, unlike the other two, she had no way of knowing if she was doing it right.

She was lying quietly on Rachel's bed with her jacket slung across a chair and her shoes tucked away underneath a computer desk. She must look so terribly out of place there, sitting squarely on a bed made up of stars and mismatched colors, a plush teddy bear in her lap and a bright pink comforter stretched out beneath her.

The image was probably more comedic than anything: a girl with pink hair, dressed in all black with a silver nose ring, sitting in the middle of a room made for a little princess.

She let her eyes roam again, her fingers tightening around the little teddy bear. She now knew why so many kids held on to such childish toys, they made you feel better, they made the flutter of your nerves lessen and whatever nonsensical fear you have seem silly. It was helpful, she wished she had one as a kid. Because she _was_ sort of nervous. Rachel's parents didn't exactly welcome her with wide open arms, and if the way they both grabbed Rachel away from her was any indication, she'd guess they were pretty unhappy with her being here. She may be safer trying to jump out the window than staying any longer. If her legs didn't hurt so much, she might have done just that.

Dara was under no illusion that she was the type of girl parents wanted to see their daughters bring home. Had she known she would be entering the Berry residence today, she would have thought to bring something a little more appropriate for the occasion. Maybe not to the Quinn Fabray level, but at least a shirt that didn't expose so much skin, her sleeveless shirt having been cut down all the way to her ribcage.

But she had no intention of stepping inside and making conversation with Rachel's _fathers_, it was just something she threw on in hopes of pushing Rachel a little closer to some self-revelation, and maybe a kiss, but it had only pushed her through the doors of the Berry residence and into the arms of two very surprised fathers.

And then pushed quickly to the stairs where she was ushered up to wait in the bedroom while Rachel and her fathers squabbled.

She sighed softly and grazed her thumb over the many bejeweled rhinestones protecting Rachel's laptop, tapping her nail lightly against a brightly colored jewel; it was one of the many objects Rachel had victimized in her room and had littered them around the room like crime scenes.

It was eccentric and sort of crazy, and basically exactly how Quinn imagined it to be.

Dara chuckled quietly and was about to lean over to pick up Rachel's phone (which had been encased in a shiny bedazzled shield) when the door suddenly swung open and immobilized her. For a moment, she swore she saw Mr. Berry holding a shotgun.

But the light flickered and her heart calmed, a short sigh of relief coming out of her as Rachel and her small plate of cookies came into better view.

"God, Rachel..." she breathed out, her hand lifting to her chest, hoping to stop her own heart. She let out a low laugh, her voice returning to the low husky timber she had lost in the moment of surprise. "I thought your fathers were coming up to kill me off."

The small smile on Rachel's face slackened, but whatever she may have felt, she didn't dwell on it, because she was already moving across the floor, the floor boards creaking softly underneath her feet and placed the cookie platter on its white doily. Timidly, she straightened out the little crinkles, her fingertips erasing the bumps in the doily, the aurora of royalty increasing.

Rachel sighed and turned around. "Well, no matter, it's just a doily." As seemingly unimportant as the comment was, the small voice of Quinn disagreed, whispering that even a crinkle can make a room look different. "Oh Dara, your hair." Dara's eyebrows rose, and though the pause was small, a flutter of panic arose in her. Was blonde showing? But Rachel smiled sweetly and stepped closer, gingerly placing a hand to Dara's forehead. "There's just this one little piece."

The words continued, but she was stuck, the light pressure of her fingertips pressing against her temple, pushing forward and removing the stray of her cumbersome hair. The hand hesitated, but when Dara sighed a relaxed against the softness of Rachel's pillow, she followed down the curve of her skull. Timidly, and by an involuntary sound of encouragement, she retraced her hand back to Dara's forehead and revived the trail again.

The moment lasted, and it was only when small sparks started to register deep in her chest that she realized she was holding her breath. It all came out of her in a messy rush, her chest falling, her head sinking, and the pleasant feeling of the girl's fingers remaining.

Rachel cleared her throat softly, and Dara could only imagine the blush on her cheeks as the girl daintily sat at the corner of her bed, her hand still racking gently through pink hair. But through her small smile, it was evident that the irritation from downstairs had followed her up here. Becoming even clearer with her next words. "I'm sorry about my fathers." she sighed, her fingers still winding through Dara's hair. "I didn't expect them to react that way."

Her eyes fluttered open and dragged slowly from the soft pink lips above her to Rachel's eyes, her attention zeroing in on the swirl of emotion. She briefly wondered what it must feel like to be Rachel, for everything to have a feeling, and for that feeling to be so expressive that it could be seen through the diminutive window of her eyes at all times.

She was just about to explain how she had expected it, at the very least, but the girl suddenly frowned and her fingers tightened in her hair. "I just can't believe they - of all people - would start stereotyping people they hardly know. And you know what? They _knew_ I was going to invite you in - I asked them if I could - so they _hardly_ have the element of surprise on their side." The words became more clipped as her fingers started moving more quickly, raking her fingers through the pink hair without the gentle care she had before. She briefly worried herself, wondering if Rachel was going to start tugging too, which caused a spike of alarm in her chest. It would be hard to explain away the blonde hair underneath.

After a sharp tug and a moment of panic, Dara quickly caught one of Rachel's hands and held it cautiously away from her head. Looking up, she managed a sheepish smile that Rachel slowly parroted, coming to her own mistake with an even deeper blush. Gently, she tugged her hand from Dara's soft grip and let them fall limp into her lap.

"I just thought my parents knew better." Was the quickly whispered reply as Rachel tried to smile through her embarrassment.

"They're just trying to protect you." That's what fathers are for; it's in their chemistry, to protect. Even if it felt differently, their intentions are always for your benefit. They just want to protect. She propped herself on her elbows and caught those brown eyes and managed a small smile. "What did they accuse me of?"

Rachel sighed and her eyes flickered to the corner of her room, her fingers picking at the comforter beneath them, digging and pulling. Dara was just relieved it wasn't her hair. "They believe you have bad intentions. And sure, I don't have a good track record with friends, and had that been their point, in a sense, I could have understood their concern. But they took your image alone and constructed a consequence of our friendship. Apparently, you have designs to corrupt me."

Dara scoffed. "How can you be so sure that I don't?"

The roll of her eyes and the disbelieving scoff was almost offending. "Dara, you are about as threatening as my sixty year old neighbor, the one with seventeen cats in her backyard and knits day and night."

Her jaw fell slack and she fought back the small laugh, both bitter and amused, because if she only knew. "You don't know that. I can be pretty cruel."

"Yes, because you were so very clever when we first met." she retaliated with a smile, "Aisle five was a disaster site after you were done with it, wasn't it?"

Surprise darted across her heart, but delight was soon to follow, and it had the corners of her mouth lifting. "Well, you are hard to follow up, what with your constant terrorizing of that poor manager, demanding lower the shelves for 'normal' customers. Which, I still can't believe he didn't listen to you. Though, when we were leaving, I totally think I saw a 'height supremacist supporter' sticker on the back." She clucked her tongue. "For shame."

Rachel made a face at her and Dara laughed, jostling them together. It was sort of an awkward position, and with a sudden bout of playfulness, she stretched her arm around Rachel's stomach and applied some pressure, delighted when Rachel let out a low yelp and quickly moved to accommodate her. It wasn't long before they had made it to their sides, pressed comfortably into the soft cushioning of Rachel's bed sheets.

Rachel laughed, a nervous sound that made its way out of her throat as Dara readjusted themselves again. It was a sound that made Dara's fingers stall and a hesitance creep into her muscles. Being - unfortunately - unfamiliar with the whole "friendship" gig, she had never really done this before, and, she presumed, neither had Rachel. Which made its way for an awkward moment. Rachel's head bumped against Dara's forehead, and though she mumbled an embarrassed "sorry" she didn't move away and her skin still grazed against Dara's; and maybe it was an awkward moment, but it wasn't a bad one, because Rachel's breath smelt like mint and her skin smelled faintly of cucumber and melon and that's all that seemed to matter in the moment.

They finally seemed to settle, the soft sound of the ceiling fan falling between them; Dara's arm still wrapped around Rachel's stomach and every once and a while, Rachel's foot would brush against Dara's, their slow breathing filling the air and taking up whatever space the steady mechanics of the electric fan left in the silence.

And then faintly, Rachel turned her head, angling it a little closer to Dara - just enough for the faint scent of mint to fan across her face. "Tell me something." she said, not exactly loud, but with the silence around them, it seemed to amplify and become a break from the intimacy swirling between them.

Dara chuckled. "What do you want to hear?"

Rachel blushed and bit her lip. "I don't know." she admitted shyly, her dark eyes swirling as they quickly flickered away. "Something that you wouldn't tell just anybody. Something you would only tell a friend."

Dara nodded but felt her throat tighten. What was there to say? She didn't really talk to anyone, unless it was a direct command or an insult. Her conversations with Finn mostly consisted of dry, second hand gossip that she picked up just to fill the silence; that or him blabbing on about football or that stupid shooting game. When she talked with Santana, it was either about Dara or an old continuation of an argument that neither one of them really got angry about.

She cleared her throat and shifted a few inches away, just enough for her to think more clearly; cucumber and melon was a surprisingly concoctions combination. "I'm afraid I don't talk to very many people. I really wouldn't know what not to say, should I decide to say anything." she admitted with a small smile, even though it was a lie. She knew exactly what not to say: anything that mattered.

And what would she share, anyway? Dara was a figment of Quinn's imagination; she didn't have parents, a sister, good memories or even bad ones. Everything in that category belonged to Quinn.

Rachel pursed her lips and her eyes rolled to some point above her, as though trying to find a question from the white paint in the top right corner of her room. Which, evidently, she did, because not a second later, she brightened up and her eyes lit up excitedly. "Oh I know!" She beamed happily, "we could play Truth."

Dara suppressed a small smile and shifted her head more comfortably into the bed. Most people would ask _what's your favorite color_, or _what's one of your hobbies?_ if they want to be particularly nosy. But only Rachel would skip the small talk to diverge into a game, probably due to her competitive streak.

When thinking it over, however, another thought came to mind. "Doesn't that game usually come with a Dare?"

Rachel had been expecting this question, as it would seem, because almost immediately, she fired off her response. "No, Truth and_Dare_ is an awful game that only encourages deceit and trickery, so with careful modification, it is now appropriate enough to be played safely with friends." Rachel said with disapproval already marking her voice, her deep brown eyes telling her not to argue and just go along with it, though Dara honestly just wanted to ask what sort of "careful modification" _Truth and Dare_ had to go through to become _Truth_, she figured it would get her nowhere. So with a smile, she decided to just nod and let Rachel run with it.

Rachel brightened at the consent, and with a beam, she perked her head up on her hand. "Okay, so the rules are -"

"Tell the truth?" Dara questioned, a pronounced eyebrow rising. "Are there more rules than that?"

Rachel looked affronted. "Of course, Dara. There are many rules to the game of Truth. First, you cannot tell a lie." she pretty much assumed that part, but Rachel was being so adorable she decided not to interrupt again, biting back her smile. "and if you do, then its the other person's turn to ask the question."

Dara waited for more, assuming that the "many rules to Truth" would be more than just one, but after several minutes of staring blankly at Rachel's concentration, she sighed and idly drummed her fingers against Rachel's side. "Okay Smarty, while you start thinking us up some more rules, I'll ask a question, alright?"

Rachel's excited grin was nearly blinding as she quickly snuggled back into the bright pink blankets, her wide glittering eyes locking onto Dara with eager anticipation. Dara pulled her lips in and thought, her fingers still trailing Rachel's warm skin, hoping she would simply file it away as some absentminded antic.

"Alright. What is..." Dara trailed off, distantly groping for a question. She rolled her eyes when one came to mind. "a hobby of yours?"

And just as she predicted, Rachel answered in a flash, her wide eyes taking in the question as though every word had consequential importance. "Uploading my videos on MySpace every Wednesday. They are of me singing a variety of show tunes, classics and modern pop." she said with a sense of urgency, as though every word depended on the balance of winning or loosing, and she just _had_ to get it right.

Dara almost laughed, but managed to suppress it since she really didn't want an argument, which surely Rachel would have found appropriate. She already knew about the videos, obviously, through Quinn, but every night, when she wasn't the Head Cheerleader, and no one was watching over her shoulder, she would click on her videos and watch them again. It's the sort of voice that if you closed your eyes, you could fall in love with her, just with the sound ringing in your ears.

She was slowly drifting into the comfortable warmth of her memory, of those bright brown eyes that seemed to stare at her through the screen, singing to her, the excitement sparkling in her eyes as she sang brightly into a hairbrush. It wasn't until a fresh whoosh of minty breath fanned against her cheek did she slowly pulling back, where those same brown eyes were narrowed into impatience.

"Oh." she breathed out, hiding her small smirk. Obviously, Rachel takes her bonding games very seriously. Which is fine, because so did she. Game on. "What are you most ashamed of?"

"Wha-" Rachel sputtered, her face leaning back. "That's only the second question, you can't ask something like that!"

Dara cocked an eyebrow. "Is that going to be another rule?"

"No." Rachel huffed, brushing away her hair. "I just wasn't _prepared."_ She almost pouted, but the plump pink of her lips became straight again and then began to thin, an expression quickly becoming known as her thinking face. Dara bit the bottom of her lip to keep from laughing, or something equally stupid, like kissing.

After a few minutes, Rachel paused and apparently found a worthy memory, because her eyes widened and a blush reddened her cheeks. Quietly, softly, a small groan escaped her and she pressed her hand over her eyes and forehead, the blush deepening.

"What? What is it?" She tried to keep the eagerness out of her voice but it spiked in every articulated letter. She felt herself move closer.

Rachel groaned again, but removed the hand. "Okay, fine. Because I absolutely _refuse_ to let you win, I will answer this question, but you must promise not to utter a _word_ of it." She pronounced forcefully, even with the cute blush spreading to the back of her neck. Dara answered in a promising smile, egging her on with words in her eyes.

Rachel groaned again, but the words came out freely. "There is a boy..." A soft sigh. "That I sold my underwear to."

Surprise was an understatement. Dara could only stare, shock having rendered her dumb.

"Well, to say _sold_ would be incorrect. It was more of a bargain." The laugh that came out of her tittered and then fell into her words, blurring them happily with embarrassment. "He said that a large variety of his followers had 'connections'. _Yes_ he said connections, don't patronize me. But he promised me a good review, and I was young and naive and I thought it would make me a star."

Dara opened her mouth, lifted a finger to remove the tips of her hair from her lips and then closed it again, because there were nothing left but a building amusement and an urge to find Jacob Ben Israel and take back the underwear.

Rachel giggled, a small embarrassed sound that crinkled her skin and scrunched up her nose. "I think you will be glad to know that I learn from my mistakes."

"Well good, because that was my third question." Dara smiled and felt the pleasant breath of Rachel's light laughter on her skin. Her chest warmed until she felt gooey and disgustingly merciful. "Fine, I'll play nice. No more dark secrets, Rachel Berry. What is your..." She rolled her eyes. "short-term goal."

Though seemingly simple, she couldn't help but hope this would pull some meat out of Rachel's answer, whether she found an interest in dating, or if it indicated anything towards Finn Hudson, but apparently Rachel had regained her balance and was just as prepared as before. Though, the answer was a little more surprising. "To get you to meet my other friends." she said seriously, without a blink in her dark earnest eyes, or a crack of a smile.

Dara balked, her eyebrows raising and crinkling her expression into utter confusion.

"What?" she asked dumbly, her voice accidentally slipping up an octave to the dangerous tone of Quinn Fabray. Luckily, Rachel didn't seem to notice the sudden shift and instead mimicked her expression, as though she wasn't sure if this was another question she had to answer correctly of if Dara was actually questioning her answer.

She must have assumed the second because her eyes became cautious, slowly repeating what she said in a near painful deliberation. "To get you to meet my other friends." she trailed off, her voice shifting into a shape of a question.

"Oh." she breathed out. Her heart played tricks in her chest and pounded painfully against her chest. She felt herself grow shy, the clearness in Rachel's eyes never wavering, never doubting. Slowly, she pulled her lips in, hoping to hide that warm blush in her cheeks, feeling hope flower in her chest. "You really want me to meet them?"

"Of course." Rachel spoke fluent simplicity, the words ached with certainty.

There was a brief moment of silence, filled with the quiet mechanics of the electric ceiling fan and their shared breathing, eyes locked and a moment suspended in time, the smell of cucumber and melon returning to dull her sharp thinking.

Slowly, clearing her throat, she tried to remove the thickness inside. "Well." Dara bit her lip, and felt a light blush warm on her cheeks. Clearing her throat, she let her eyes find Rachel's again, forcing a small smirk to cover her smile. "Are you sure you wouldn't want to trade me in for some National's trophy?" She always did need something to fall back on when things got too emotional, sarcasm was always the easiest.

It was only a moment later that she realized that maybe she shouldn't have mentioned Nationals, since she was new entering this strange life of Rachel Berry, and surely she hadn't mentioned Glee club's upcoming competition to her, yet. But before she could feel anything akin to panic, or even a flutter of it, Rachel had shifted closer and smiled, a small warm smile, her cheek resting against the back of her hand.

"Dara" she said sweetly, the warmth of her breath fanning against her cheek and Dara almost closed her eyes, the smell of mint and warmth making an impossible promise she wished she could take. But Rachel's words brought her out of her head, along with another roll of her eyes." National's is _hardly_ a short-term goal."

Dara felt her eyebrows raise, a choked laugh coming out of her throat, having gotten caught somewhere on her words. "Right, and why is that, Small Fry."

Rachel didn't look perturbed by the nickname. She only shook her head, raising herself on her elbow again as though to prepare for a grand presentation, plucking out the words from her mental rule book. "That wouldn't be plausible, seeing as my next competition is within four months, it can't be considered as a short-term goal." she replied earnestly, her voice retaining a near mechanical edge to it. When Dara only stared, Rachel sighed. "Dara, everyone knows that a short term goal should be completed by the end of the week, if not by the end of the day!"

Dara was lost on this one simple concept. "At...the end of a week?" she tried out slowly, feeling the words roll awkwardly off her tongue. How was she supposed to meet Rachel's friends by the end of the week? She hardly had time to be Dara at all, let alone be her within an unscheduled date. "A short term goal is _not_ by the end of the week."

Rachel's dark eyes narrowed and Dara almost sighed; she should have known better than question the black and white logic of Rachel's rule book. "Yes it is." Rachel answered in a quiet, clipped voice, a note of authority rising up between her words.

"No, it isn't." she retorted, almost surprised that her response was as childish as it sounded. She had never been one of those children to bicker or complain, but when it became a matter of who was right or wrong, the responses tended to come out of her in a subconscious, childish revolt.

"Dara." Rachel warned, her dark eyes narrowing. "_Yes it is_."

"No, Rachel -"

"Yes."

"No._"_

_"Yes."_

_"_No, it reall-"

"_Dara,_you're going to meet my friends by the end of the week." Rachel finished the argument with narrowed eyes and a voice that hardly even rose. It wasn't overly demanding, and yet, it held an underlying finality to it that stole the spine from her back and the words from her mouth.

"Uh..." She tucked a smile away, behind her hand. Maybe she should have resisted more, or even stopped the argument a while back, but Quinn never backed down from an argument, even a silly one. But then again, even the HBIC was getting used to loosing with Rachel. "I guess I am, then." the corner of her lip tucked up and she rolled her eyes, "But if your long-term goal is to take out the garbage by Monday, I'll be disappointed."

"So would my parents, considering that trash is normally collected on Sunday, _and for your information_, my long-term goal is not so nonsensical." She raised her chin with a small, prideful smile. Her eyes gleamed. "It is to be awarded a Tony before my twenty-fifth birthday."

Maybe she hadn't given enough credit to Rachel, or maybe her imagination was just cruel to her, because with the answer clearer than before, she felt a small part of her relax, letting out a small breath. Rachel's dream was still under her expectations. It hadn't changed and it definitely didn't involve anyone else.

She let out a short breath, that mixed with a small laugh, a mistake she quickly amended when the corners of Rachel's mouth turned downward. "What is so funny?"

Her fingers moving idly through the soft silk of the sheets as she nestled her cheek more comfortably. "I only think you have a serious problem with math." When Rachel's brow crinkled, she raised an eyebrow. "You don't see the glaring gap between your short and long term goals? Nine years a little too far from now, don't you think?" a small smile made its way on her face. "Who made up these rules, Berry?"

Rachel raised her chin petulantly, but her eyes had started glittering again. "If you have a complaint, I highly recommend you put it up with the producers of Truth."

A smile threatened the corners of her mouth, her eyes glittering. She quirked her head. "I wonder who that might be." She played warmly, her arm shifting closer to Rachel, now linked to her skin by her fingertips. Tentatively, she bit her lip and suppressed a small giggle, a childishness grasping her heart and urging her into action; an impulse she hardly understood, but undertook anyway. Her fingers brushed lightly against her ribs, teasing the skin there.

Rachel squirmed a little and a small giggle escaped. Her grin widened when she sensed the intention of her fingers. "Well, I'll be sure to write it down." said Rachel through a wide-lipped smile, "But if I don't get back to you-" she broke off into a small giggle as Dara found a patch of tender skin in a more reserved area, the curve of her hip.

The girlish squeal that left Rachel drove Dara into a small frenzy, releasing a breathlessness in her chest, soft wings of butterflies, she pressed her laughter against the silk of sheets. Her hands pressed firmly against warm skin, spreading and roaming, the wild gust of laughter being directed warmly against her skin, lavishing her with thoughts and the scent of cucumber skin.

"Girls?" a soft voice interrupted and Dara almost thought - for a bizarre moment - that was Rachel, but very quickly with the stiffness underneath her and the sound of a knocking against the door did the peices click together. The knock was followed closely by the creaking sound of a door opening, and with a gasp and snap of her spine, Dara was on the other side of the bed in an instant.

Rachel sighed and called out a soft "Come on in, Daddy," she raised herself to a sitting position and her fingers worked to brush all of that wild hair to one side of her neck. She felt a hot flush of shame and victory as the pink marks of her lipstick showed against her neck, because even though it wasn't from a kiss, it still gave the impression of one. For the heart of Rachel's father, she was concerned, but for her own, she couldn't hide the small smirk.

The door creaked again and Mr. Berry popped his head in. "Hey girls, would you like something to eat?"

Rachel smiled, but it was short and lacking warmth. "No Daddy, we're fine."

The coldness wasn't subtle and it wasn't supposed to be. Mr. Berry's eyes, through the crack of the door and the thick glasses, flickered and the smile on his face slackened. "Well, do tell me if you do. I cook up a mean vegan lasagna if you girls want it."

Dara's eyes flickered to Rachel, who simply nodded, her figure never relaxing and her smile never warming. Though that was certainly supposed to be the end of his speech, Mr. Berry didn't leave. He was waiting for something, and evidently he wasn't going to leave without it, so with a little speculation, the man pushed the door open a little wider until Dara came into view.

He improvised. "So...it's Dara, right?"

Her attention perked and so did Rachel's, a brow arching and her eyes finding her fathers as though trying to read his intentions on the warm surface of his smiling face. She wasn't sure whether to say Mr. Berry or 'sir', so she remained quiet; answering with only a nod despite, Dara smiled, despite Quinn's old mannerisms wiggling in her brain, telling her she was doing something wrong.

Mr. Berry smiled and nodded, stepping closer and revealing his whole figure. He had flour coated on his skin and clothes, a thick batter like substance spotted on his acid faded jeans. "Well, I'd shake your hand, but I don't think you want any of this on you." He indicated to his flour-coated hands. "But I'll be sure to catch up with the pleasantries next time you come around here."

Dara smiled, even though she knew it wasn't for her. "Of course." she answered anyway. It was for his daughter, the implication of there being another stay, and it was just enough to make Rachel's smile genuine and her brown eyes sparkle again.

She liked Mr. Berry. It was evident he loved his daughter, from the smiles to the fact that he was willing to make a step he wasn't prepared for. Mr. Berry beamed and for a moment, though it was a well-known fact that Rachel was adopted, she could see bits and pieces of him that resembled his short and dorky daughter. It was like a puzzle of skin and hair, all broken down into the small quirks that tied them together; it was certainly endearing, and far better than what she could have acquired, like ignorance or a distinct liking for alcohol.

When Mr. Berry left, Dara found her attention turning to Rachel, again, raising an expected eyebrow. "You're fathers never say no to you, do they?"

Rachel pulled her lips in to suppress anything suspicious, her eyes glittering happily as they lowered to Dara's. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about." she said, but her voice was altered by a note of happiness and her smile was pulling on the edges of her lips.

The roll of her eyes was small and it didn't feel very sarcastic, so after a moment of thought, she found herself making the slow crawl back to Rachel again. The girl eyed her tentatively, watching her as she sunk a little deeper into the bed beside her.

Dara smiled and stretched herself out on the bed, her head knocking lightly against Rachel's knee. Brown eyes looked down at her, and she looked up. She simply couldn't resist. "You're a little spoiled, aren't you?"

Rachel feigned offense. "Of course not." she scoffed, but there was no bite to her words and the smile that soon followed made it clear that she knew it was a lie.

Dara giggled softly, but quickly turned her head to hide the sound, her smile pushing into the plush comforter beneath her. She was never one to giggle, and with how she was building up Dara to be, she couldn't see her being much of a giggler, too. But Rachel seemed to enjoy making unexpected changes in her.

"Dara?" Rachel asked softly, her breath accidentally brushing against the shell of her ear as she shifted down into the bed, settling a little too close, making shivers splinter quickly across her skin and then disappears in a flush of warmth. Dara bit her lip to keep the heavier breath from escaping her, keeping it locked inside, and yet she felt so breathless; swallowing thickly, she turned her head and found the girl's eyes again.

"Yes?" she asked and watched the small frown inbetween Rachel's eyebrows deepen.

"I know I'm sort of breaking the rules, so to speak, since I have yet to answer a single question incorrectly, but..." Rachel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and Dara raised an eyebrow. "Do you think maybe I could ask the questions, now?" she asked this tentatively, as if the rules of the game really mattered to Dara, and the mere question of changing it up may offend her.

Dara really wanted to roll her eyes, but she forced down the impulse with a gentle smile, because Rachel is new to friendships and really, so is she, so what's the point in being course? "Of course."

Rachel beamed brightly and scooted closer, laying her head gently against the crook of her elbow. "Okay."

Dara waited for more, pressing one ear against her elbow as the other laid straight up, waiting for whatever word or question Rachel would come up with, but after the seconds turned into minutes, Dara raised her eyes to Rachel and smiled. The girl really couldn't let a game just be a game, it had to be perfect and her questions had to be scripted honestly from her own curiosity. She always said what she meant and meant what she said, and really, that's what made falling for Rachel so easy. While she hid behind lies and false smiles, Rachel forced her way through life with honesty and blunt emotion. She wasn't afraid to feel something, as long as it was real, and she wasn't afraid to act on it, even if it wasn't returned.

Rachel's dark eyes suddenly brightened and with a curve of her shy smile, she inched her head closer to Dara's, her eyes sliding to hers and melting warmly upon impact. "Okay I got one." she said, her voice barely reaching above a whisper as though the question itself was a secret not to be heard by others. "What was your hair color before it was pink?"

Dara's smile slipped off her face, her throat tightening in a sudden flare of panic. This wasn't a question that would determine her fate, but it still felt like a dangerous one, each word held its own gravity, weighing her head down but making it whirl all the same. Her heart trilled like a frantic bird, fluttering about nervously, rustling its feathers and clacking its short beak.

But she had to answer, because Rachel was looking at her quietly from her spot on the bed, her cheek resting against the back of her hand and her eyes watching her carefully, as though seeing right past her skin and bones to the thoughts underneath, the flare of panic and dread that came like a wave and crashed everywhere inbetween.

Dara forced out a smile just as she forced out her words. "Blonde." her voice cracked so she shook her head and swallowed down the scathing emotion on the tip of her tongue, aiming to try again. "My hair was blonde."

While Rachel seemed to absorb this, her dark eyes analyzed each particle of her skin, sliding from side to side from eye to eye. Dara's head whirled with loaded thoughts. Was this a bad idea? Should she have lied? Would that have passed? Does Rachel see her now? Does she see Quinn? Underneath the pink wig, red lipstick and happier eyes, does she see her tormentor?

"Huh." Rachel whispered softly, the words falling softly off those plump pink lips, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. She continued to study Dara's features and the pink haired girl was very quickly loosing her control, running in frantic circles, her nerves wish to tear her apart.

"What?" she asked, forcing a smile on her face as though her heart wasn't beating like a hammer in her chest, unable to help the note of anxiety that entered her voice.

Rachel tilted her head and the tip of her nose crinkled, obviously frustrated. "I can't picture it." she whispered, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as though this slight dysfunction was all her fault.

Dara blinked and her lips parted, hope fluttering eagerly inside her as the words flowed out just as quickly. "You...can't picture it?"

"No. I can't." She grumbled, clearly frustrated with her seemingly lack of imagination. Dara could feel her lips quirk up in a small smile, though she tried to smother it into the comfortable cushioning of Rachel's bed. The girl beside her sighed but let go of her disappointment, her dark eyes returning to its clinical study of Dara's face. "But I'm sure you looked just as lovely." she said evenly, without uncertainty, as though the words didn't bring a sudden lurch in Quinn's hidden heart and make Dara's throat dry.

Rachel smiled gently and brought her hand to Dara's face, her fingertips exploring the hollow of her cheekbone, moving with a soft and doting touch to the pink hair, pushing it gently behind her ear. The careful way in which she carried these actions out made a warm mush of her heart, melting inside of her like butter.

Dara breathed evenly out her nose, pressing her cheek more firmly against Rachel's cushioned bed sheets as the girl's fingers brushed against the shell of her ear again. She was so concentrated on breathing that she almost didn't hear Rachel's next question. "Why did you change your hair?"

The question was whispered softly into the air and the words were blown right back at her through the electric fan, the silence ringing around her as she tried to absorb another chaotic question. But before she could scratch up an answer, her lips had parted and released words far more genuine.

"I wanted something different..." she felt a small, embarrassed smile turn up her lips."Something that I couldn't get while being who I was..." the words left her easier now, almost without thought, almost like air, but they retained the weight of her world. Her eyes flickered to Rachel and watched for a moment, those dark brown eyes widen and latch onto her, absorbing and waiting. "I can't tell you I wanted to be different, because I didn't. And it's not some act to rebel or anything else so cliché." She felt herself smile, and it being returned. "I knew what I wanted, and I've known it for a while." her voice comes out softer now, quieter, higher, sweeter, so very like Quinn. "I could only really get that by changing what everyone saw of me. What everyone saw _for_ me. I thought it would be worth it."

She tethered off with a small smile, a heart breaking inside herself. A part of her was making sense, being brave enough to get what she wanted, but the other didn't make sense at all, hiding behind her fear and pretty smile, how could she ever get what she wanted?

Rachel lay quietly beside her, her wide eyes devouring the words she had shared, probably giving them a deeper meaning then she had meant to give. The silence returned, but it wasn't uncomfortable or stifling as many silences can be, this was just there. It didn't separate them, in fact, it may have pushed them a little closer. It stayed between them, growing in seconds and minutes, until at last; it was broken in a quiet whisper.

"Dara?"

"Yes?"

"I'm really glad you're my friend."

She laughed softly, but felt herself scoot closer, her fingers finding Rachel's in the dim light, touching a quiet promise she couldn't have shared with words. "Me too."

* * *

><p>"This is going to be so great." Rachel said excitably, squeezing the steering wheel while she cast a giddy side glance to Dara. The tight line of Dara's mouth turn up, but her head remained slack against her open hand, her fingers creating small distressed signals on her temple again. She was used to feeling this way, easily swayed by irritation, anger or fear. But that was Quinn's problem, always moving against a very delicate balance, her moods teetering from the smallest disturbance; people whisper 'bipolar' under their breath, and sometimes she wonders if it's true.<p>

But as Dara, she very rarely felt Quinn's select emotional variation. She lived lighter and maybe a little happier, but Quinn's problem found a crack and was now wiggling itself into Dara's life. And that problem was the dopey lump of flesh standing outside his house, waiting for Rachel to drive by and pick him up; otherwise known as Finn Hudson, her boyfriend.

She should have known that the arrangements would end up like this; although, to her credit, she had not expected the _entire_ Glee club to simply bail on Rachel. And so quickly, almost without warning, they all dropped like flies. Sure, she didn't know them very well, but whenever she walked past the choir room, often, she would linger a little longer in the hallways just to hear their voices intermingle. Though it only sharpened her critism, she always thought it was beautiful, it made her feel warm and then suddenly cold, the sense of longing always just a shadow behind.

She only figured that the people who made something so beautiful were able to stand each other for long enough to establish an efficient enough support system. But, she supposed, she of all people should know better than that.

Biting her lip, Dara watched Rachel through the hair in her eyes, solemn and quiet; she watched as the girl squeezed the steering wheel again and tapped it nervously with her fingers. She was nervous, and Dara was being glum, and only one made reasonable sense. She knew Rachel just wanted a nice evening between the two worlds she happened to bridge, but the selfish wanting part of her needed Rachel in only her own.

But Rachel was very quickly winning over her selfishness, tossing out nervous looks from the corner of her eye, it helped encourage the guilt already growing in her stomach. Eventually, with the amount of nervousness seeping out of her short brunette friends, the guilt won her over. It was enough to make anyone feel guilty.

And if it wasn't, this definitively was. "Are you excited?" Rachel asked tentatively, her grip tightening as her voice colored with a delicate hopefulness. It craved an immediate answer and Dara nearly stomped on the tail end of it, guilt and fear making her words fall out fast.

"Of course." It felt shaky, but she willed her self to smile, her eyes finding Rachel's again, hoping to silence whatever worries might be inside her. She tried to be comforting. _She wanted this, she wanted to meet him, she wanted to make her happy_, but only one of those were true, and it was hard making up for two-thirds of her enthusiasm.

But that one-third was enough for Rachel, because soon she was beaming again, returning to her old self with that wide childlike, hopeful smile and her fingers squeezed the steering wheel again, her eyes finding the road again.

Rachel smiled and said, "Oh, here it is." and Dara's heart started beating faster. Her fingers dug into her temple and Rachel's car bumped along the driveway, slowly pulling up. What if Finn noticed her? What if he saw Quinn? Dara swallowed and looked through the dark for the familiarly tall figure. After a few seconds of searching, she sighed and pressed her back against the seat. The best part was that Finn wasn't even waiting outside. The advantage of these black tinted windows was a loss for her. The car's low purr died down with a twist of the key. Rachel smiled eagerly and opened the door with a creak, shutting it with an even louder bang.

With a quick gathering breath, she unlocked the door and tipped her boots out, hearing the comforting crunch of gravel underneath. Admittedly, she had made deliberate efforts to seem overly different. But she was just beginning to sense just how bad of an idea that might have been. The more different she became, the more skin she showed, and it only just occurred to her that she was showing too much of Quinn's body. And it was a bit obvious.

Rachel stepped up to the door and shrugged that ridiculously puffy jacket closer to her snug little body. "Hey." she whispered, turning her head to glance at Dara before her hand found the little white box hiding the door bell in a clear plastic cover. "I'm really glad you're going out with me, today." she responded with a smile.

Dara pulled her lips in to hide the small smile. "Yes, well..." she drawled out, her heart fluttering softly like the tips of butterfly wings, her fingers finding the small detailed tiles of the house. "don't thank me just yet. I never promised to be nice to the boy." she only half-teased.

Rachel beamed up at her, never blinking and with utter certainty, responded warmly, "Yes, you will."

Dara rolled her eyes and managed a small scoff as though it wasn't true, but she knew that all those childish plans to make fun of Finn was vanishing underneath those warm loyal eyes, a determination setting in her chest not to disappoint, an instinct drilled into her from childbirth.

Rachel still had her finger pressed against the doorbell when Finn whipped the door open, a big goofy smile on his face, wearing his usual preppy-backwoods ensemble. "Hey, Rach," he exclaimed brightly, and it was just enough enthusiasm to make Dara look away, remembering in a sudden flash the reason why Quinn had chosen him in the first place. It wasn't out of affection, or anything silly like that, but for someone who played pretend in emotion, it felt natural to attached to someone who didn't fake it all the time.

It was a hollow throb in this body of hers, knowing that he was a boyfriend to someone who did fake it, with feelings for someone who didn't.

"Hello, Finn." Rachel responded happily, "I'm so glad you could join us!" Despite the situation, Dara felt herself smile at the word 'us'. "Unfortunately, the rest of our club could not make it. They all had business to attend to." She said evenly, her voice void of all the emotional turmoil it carried just a few days ago when the subject had fist been brought up, her words bleeding into swelling tears and insecurities.

"Yeah, that's cool." Finn said lightly, shrugging and shoving his large hands into his pocket with a smile. It must have been old news for him, because he didn't so much as blink or even turn to look around him. He must have gotten the headcount of who was attending before even Rachel did, but had seen no need to put action into his club's laziness. Before Dara could even bristle, a gentle pressure wrapped around her arm and softened her stance, like old wax in the sun, she felt herself melt and form into what standards had been set before her. _Be nice_.

Rachel smiled and took a breath. "Alright." she breathed out, her fingers curling around Dara's arm more tightly. "Finn, I would like you to meet my friend, Dara." Finn's eyes had already made the trail to Dara halfway between Rachel's first word and her last, but what had only been a glance became longer and stretched until Finn's mouth dropped and the blood drained from his face. She could pretty much assume Finn hadn't been expecting anyone like her to be standing here with Rachel. If his eyes were any indication, his imagination hadn't gotten very far.

"Holy shit." he mumbled, his eyes making a large circle to every distinct feature of both Dara and Quinn, the pink hair to the freckle on her wrist, two people combined into one. She was left wondering which one was more evident.

Rachel was clearly surprised by her friend's reaction, her eyes widening as the corners of her mouth tightened. "Finn," she mumbled, clearly embarrassed. Her eyes flickered to Dara's. "Don't just _stare_ at her." The demand was left unanswered as Finn's eyes went back to her fringed pink hair, ghosting over what should have been familiar hazel eyes. When no recognition was made, Dara found herself relaxing. But no such consolation reached Rachel, her voice quickly growing irritated. "_Finn._

Luckily, he heard that time, his head snapping as he found Rachel again. Despite making the connection, he connected it all wrong, because his next few words were far from an apology. "_That's_ your friend?" Finn sputtered, clearly not believing his eyes or the skin and bone in front of him. Though she wasn't surprised of Finn's reaction, she was glad Rachel was, even if it didn't quite make sense.

The brunette's brown eyes narrowed, and it took a moment to recognize the hot flash of irritation in her eyes, but it was relieving to know it wasn't doubt. Rachel's fingers tightened around Dara's elbow. "Yes, Finn. She is." Her eyes narrowed. "Is there any particular reason why you find that surprising?"

Finn may be a little dense at times, but he wasn't dumb. He knew enough from Quinn to know when a line had been crossed and experience taught him how to fix it. The corner of his mouth loosened and his stiff figure sagged against the door. "No, no I was just wondering. I guess I was expecting one of those dancer girls at those recitals you were talking about."

Instantly, like a switch, Rachel brightened and the irritation vanished. "Oh, Jessica and Stephanie?" Finn grinned and bobbed his head up and down like an inflated balloon, and Rachel's fingers loosened on her arm. Dara felt her heart drop and the urge to grab her hand nearly overwhelmed her. And she probably would have, had the ghost of a previous conversations was not so _wrongly_ squeezed between them.

_Don't be bitter, it's unattractive,_ whispered Quinn, a phantom of herself reaching through the gap that was slowly separating them.

And though she hated it, she took Quinn's advice. Which was really her own, but does that even _matter_ right now? Finn was talking to Rachel, laughing with her as he slipped into the front seat, and now he was bringing up Glee and all the things that made Rachel beam. She tried to keep up, but before she knew it, the conversation was over and they were sliding into a tacky red booth, squeezing together as a waiter waited on them.

"So..." Finn started over the loud wet ball of bread in his mouth. "How did you guys meet?

Dara's eyes never moved from the large ball in his mouth, working back and forth between his cheeks and wetting his lips. It was enough to make anyone sick, but Quinn already had such a weak stomach. "School." She answered, quietly enough to keep the nausea out of her words.

Finn's brow furrowed and with a mighty gulp, he managed to swallow the large ball in his mouth. "Wait...but," His voice was a little gurgled, so with a loud chocking sound and a thick clap to his chest, he cleared his throat and tried again. "You don't go to our school."

She hadn't heard him over the disgusting swallow of his bread, and as she took a small breath, she wondered whether or not the urge to roll her eyes belonged to Dara or Quinn. She quickly tossed that aside, wondering what difference _that_ would make. It was only when Rachel quietly cleared her throat, and lightly tapped her thigh, did Finn's words finally click. She froze, and her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes quickly finding Finn's as her mind reeled back to that easy, little mistake.

_School._It wasn't really a lie, because Quinn _had_ met Rachel at school, in the corridors as she walked to her first class, clad in a red and white uniform with freshman spirit pounding in her ears. But that shouldn't have been _Dara's_ answer. It should have been a quick line, aisle 5, the produce section, she should have laughed over Rachel's height and then let her take off from there.

She felt Rachel's eyes move to her face, heard the sound of skin brushing against cheap plastic and the confused touch of her fingers against the inside of her elbow, a wandering touch, playing gingerly with the neat cotton thread of her shirt. It was a question without words, _are you joking? What do you mean?_

Biting the inside of her cheek, she felt a small tug of guilt, but kept the answers to herself. Whether she was proud of it or not, she _was_ a good liar. "Don't I? Maybe you just never saw me." She made sure the words sounded sly, not quick or eager, as she leaned forward, and smiled. She watched through the dark hoods of eyes. "Just imagine, I could've been there the _whole_ time." She grew with the lie, a secret joke, as Finn's eyes widened and his lips turned down, suddenly uncertain.

She knew how he worked - how they all did. She knew it wouldn't be long before Finn grew too uncomfortable to sit still, and she only had to wait a few seconds, watched his eyes squint and become desperate to break the eye contact they had managed to hold. He seemed seconds away from turning toward someone else, but before he looked away, she made sure he heard her laugh.

Quietly, she leaned forward and whispered, "It's a joke.". She made it sound like a hint, like it really was sincere, like she was just teasing him from the very beginning.

Which was all she need to make him blush. His eyes widened and his discomfort quickly waned into irritation. His chest puffed up and he jerked his head away, his pride wounded. But what Dara would have told him - had it not depended on her cover - was that he shouldn't be embarrassed She fell for several lies along the way, and the thing about lies was that they were too easy to believe. And the most convincing lies do not rely on words.

She had long ago learned the art of silence, the pressure it induced and the mean spirit of it all. Cautiously, she cast an eye to Rachel, careful to read her expression, and she was relieved to see that she was neither reproached nor approved. Rachel was simply surprised, the conversation having wormed far from her expectations.

But with a small smile, that no one else saw, she shrugged to herself and moved on, looking back down to review her menu.

But Finn wasn't done. His face scrunched up and his eyes glinted, embarrassed. "That's not very funny." He huffed, the rosy blush still tinting his cheeks. She cocked an eyebrow. Embarrassment was easier with company, as she was told. She wouldn't really know, she never would have made it evident to anyone else had she been embarrassed.

But she played along. "I'm not known for my humor." After all, boys like their pride, and maybe she felt a little guilty for playing him in the first place.

Finn frowned and his eyes looked shiny. "Then what _are_ you known for?" It was said quietly, like he didn't really want it to be heard, but he was, and irritation spiked through Quinn. She felt the edges of a smile come on, through the irritation that weaved through her bloodstream. She felt the edges ripple and her stomach tightened with anger.

Rachel, detecting tension, perked up. "My, these salads look good, don't they?" She hummed and flipped through the menu. "Apple Walnut Salad. That sounds appetizing. Now, I assume they will leave the meat in a side dish, but it's still in a far better shape than the last time I came in here. What, with the chicken tossed on every inch of my salad. And then, to have the audacity to claim the salad to be a _Chicken_ Caesar." And onward.

While Rachel struggled past the moment, Dara managed to breathe again, regaining herself. She felt the quick beating of her heart and the anger of someone else, just underneath the skin, the curl of her fingernails. She wondered if this was what Dr. Jekyll felt during those awkward times of friction, where those two lines suddenly blurred.

If Dara was thinking rationally, she would have known that her situation was nothing like fiction, but a personal choice she made. She didn't take any potion, and her change wasn't permanent. It was a wig, sunglasses, and a different mentality.

But, still, the moments of friction existed, and oddly enough, the separation did too.

"What is it you are going to get, Finn?" Was the end of Rachel's rant, only slightly breathless.

Finn frowned and mumbled, "I don't know," and turned his eyes to the menu. But after a few minutes of pretending to read, he put it down and got up, leaving with a quickly muttered, "I have to go to the bathroom."

Rachel stared and then, slowly, sighed and let the menu drop from her hands. "Okay, what is going on with you?"

"Me?" Dara asked, feigning incredibility, "This was not my fault." She picked absently at the red cloth folded neatly in front of her, the silverware clinking together as she moved its placemat mindlessly. "And anyway, he definitely started it."

She didn't have to look at Rachel to know what was expected of her, so like a guilty kid, she conceded with only the hope of escaping responsibility. "Alright, so _maybe_ I started it, but Finn definitely meant some harm with that question of his." This time, she peered curiously through her hair, wondering if she got away with it. She watched Rachel smile at her through the shades of pink, and with a sigh, Dara admitted defeat. "Fine. I'll _try_ to be nicer."

"I knew you would." Rachel cooed and poked her affectionately on her nose. Dara rolled her eyes and jerked her head away, but she couldn't escape the small, happy smile.

"So what are _you_ getting, Dara?" Rachel asked - seemingly innocent - as she shifted subtly closer. But nothing could be subtle in this restaurant, for with each motion, the cheap red plastic squeaked and everything was revealed. But Rachel didn't look embarrassed and Dara simply smiled.

Despite the sweetness of it, it didn't keep her from teasing. "Probably something that bled to death." With these words, Rachel's face fell slack and Dara fought back her laugh, nearly snorting as she tried to hide her face with her laminated menu. Briefly, she looked through the options, Rachel's face still in the corner of her eyes. "Oh, look! Bacon Grilled Burger, that sounds delicious."

Rachel slowly shook her head, "You heartless carnivore." She grabbed the menu away from her. "I will be deciding for you. You lost your eating rights."

"My eating rights?"

"Yes, your eating rights. They are mine now, and we are sharing a Caesar salad. You may eat the meat they have on it, and if that doesn't satisfy your carnal needs, than good." Rachel concluded with a nod and a closed menu.

She was about to respond with something along the lines of her 'carnal needs' when something caught her attention.

She let out a quick breath through her nose. There, settled comfortably into the booth _right in front of them_, were Kurt and Mercedes. They were both chatting excitably amongst themselves, sharing gossip with bread as they snuck glances at Rachel's seemingly unaware company.

Irritable, Dara waited to be acknowledged, her lips pulled back and her jaw tight. It took a few moments, but before long, one of their eyes wandered to her again and quickly, they alerted the other. Mercedes quickly snapped up her menu to hide herself, but Kurt was not so lucky, squeaking, he squabbled over what little space they had in efforts to cover himself.

Dara only rolled her eyes and looked away, even though, honestly, it would have been sort of amusing to watch. Though, the thought of Rachel finding them dashed any bubbling amusement, and suddenly, she felt herself hope that Finn would come back. At least he provided a good cover up. She would have to handle them on her own time, but until then, she could only hope that Finn would get his _butt_ back over here.

Thankfully, she didn't have to wait very long. With a small, sheepish smile, Finn slid back into his seat and covered the two behind him, choosing carefully, another breadstick to munch on. And - whether she was thankful for it or not - whatever tension remained was swept away with the crunch of bread, the gross ball of saliva and wheat moving back and forth literally drowning out everything else in her mind.

What she _was_ thankful for, however, was that the waiter handed her the check the moment she finished picking off Rachel's oddly delicious salad, helping to spur on this oddly eventful evening. Rachel was beaming happily as they all got up and moved to the automatic doors, so happy, in fact, that it became almost _too_ easy to slip away. With just a gentle push in the car's direction, she slowed down and turned instead to the two sitting ducks behind her.

Sauntering over, Dara let her hands slide across the sleek table until she could grip the corners. "Hello." Dara smiled, a small catty thing, leveling her eyes to theirs. "I don't believe we've had the chance to introduce ourselves." Mercedes' eyes widened, maybe noticing the familiar sweetness in her voice, and with deliberate effort, she made sure it sounded dryer the next time. "But seeing as you have been watching me for the better part of an hour, I don't think that will be necessary."

Kurt's eyes widened and he quickly opened his mouth, a justification on the tip of his tongue, and if Dara was interested in bantering or catty insults, she would have allowed it.

But she really wasn't. That was Quinn's game. Now, she was just irritated. "Oh, no." She quickly interrupted, her lip curling in agitation. "I don't actually care about this part. I don't care whether you're innocent or not. In fact, you could not know a _single_ Rachel Berry in your life and the only difference it would make for me is that when Rachel, a complete stranger to you or not, invites you somewhere, you will be there."

She waited, staring back at the wide-eyed, heavy breathing gleeks just below her, and after several awkward moments of silence, she let out a low, irritated sigh. She never thought she would miss getting a sharp response. "Do I make myself clear?"

Kurt quickly nodded, and Mercedes parroted him. Having made her point, Dara managed to turn away without rolling her eyes, sliding her hands from the table, she gave them a reason to watch her leave. Her father's lessons were pressed like flowers into the pages of her mind and in odd moments like this, she fell back into his knowledge; should you ever turn your back on an opponent, make sure they know where to look.

When she left the automatic doors, she tipped her gaze to her surroundings. Thankfully, she didn't have to look too long, it being fairly easy to spy an abnormally tall boy and an equally short girl. Together, nonetheless.

Smiling, she made the short jog to the parked car. There was a gap between Finn and Rachel, the conversation being sparse as Rachel's eyes were on the look out for her. Dara found herself happy again. With a quick smile, she joined their shrouded shoulders, slipping in between them, she added to their puffy breath as the cold air mixed between them.

The rest happened quickly, and it wasn't long before they had all filed into the car and the heater started to blast, the conversation warming up into a topic that nearly all of them could share. But still, she kept her words to herself, watching through hooded eyelids as Rachel talked. She took the opportunity to admire her, watching her hands twitch on the steering wheel and her eyes brighten with the passion of conversation. She doesn't think she ever noticed just how _quickly_ Rachel's mouth moved.

It was sort of funny to watch; the girl was nearly bursting at the seams with words, composed entirely of letters waiting to be thought and feckless punctuation. Even so, she never tripped up, never faltered. The staccato beat of her side of the conversation never lacked, even when she exchanged words like "interminable" when all she meant to say was "boring".

It was eccentric and crazy and oddly charming.

Then suddenly, Rachel's quirky mouth closed and with a small hum, she turned into another road, the streets becoming unfamiliar. Or more unfamiliar. Admittedly, her eyes had been elsewhere since she entered the car, and she hadn't really paid close attention to the conversation, or at least the words. And looking into the streets didn't help if she had very little idea where they were going; with a quick peek to Finn's face, she was resolved. So nobody knew where they were going.

Rolling her eyes lightly and pressing her forehead against the window, she trained her eyes to the world outside, searching for a single familiar road, a street, or a person. When they passed a suspicious sign that appeared to say 'Now Leaving Lima' sign, Dara's mouth twitched.

"Rachel?" said Dara, smiling, warm in the sudden sliver of light. It was caught through the rearview mirror and Rachel hummed, her smile returned. "Where are we going?"

The girl's face brightened with realization, "Oh, yes. I forgot to mention to you that our next checkpoint may go a little out of Lima, but you can trust that it will be well worth the drive. _Weaving Pallas _is far worth any travel, in my opinion." Rachel smiled and found Dara in her rearview mirror "And the fun part is that palace is spelled _p-a-l-l-a-s_, after the mythical goddess Pallas for her talents in weaving."

Dara smiled and shook her head, pressing just her fingertips against her eyes.

"Weaving...Pallas?" Finn was obviously a little more skeptical. "Isn't that like, with needles and stuff?"

"Yes," Rachel nodded, "I, myself, was not the one to discover it, but my fathers and I have been enjoying its quaint services since my eleventh birthday and I have found it most enjoyable. I would say it's almost like Color Me Mine, only, instead of _painting_, you get to learn how to weave cute little patterns into fabric. You can write cute little phrases too, I made my fathers identical shirts for Fathers day, and they still wear it." Rachel beamed.

Finn's face pinched as the night become a dismal painting of thin, sharp needles and pricked fingers. "Oh." It's the word of the day and it was just the word needed to tilt the pique of Rachel's excitement. Through all her beams and excitement, her ears were searching for this tell-tale sigh and she just found it. Through her nose, Dara let out a hot, irritated sigh.

There was only a second of silence, but the car made an obvious change in speed, slowing down, preparing for whatever course. "It was just a thought, really." She answered, as though she hadn't driven a good twenty minutes into it. Tentatively, she added. "I could go anywhere."

Finn's expression subtly changed, his eyebrows raising and the dark glint of his eyes shining, like slim rings in the glance of light. He fiddled with his hands and his choice of words, waiting to get the order right. Before Dara could snap, he finally chose to speak. "Well, you could come back to my place? My mom's doing one of her night yoga classes, and she won't be back for a while. I have the home to myself." He added with a puff of pride.

Rachel took the words with absolute delight, her face breaking into a bright smile; Dara watched her silently, cautiously, nervous with the sudden brightness.

"I've never been invited to someone's house before. " Rachel exclaimed, loudly and with just a hint of longing, the sadness looking out of her brightly colored words. Unable to contain her relief that it was the invitation Rachel longed for, Dara felt the guilt for every muscle becoming slack. "If it's okay with Dara, I say absolutely."

Two pairs of eyes suddenly sought hers, one more happy than the other. Finn's tentatively bordered invitation was all but trampled by Rachel's enthusiasm. Briefly, she wondered if it was really up to her, if she put her foot down would they really not go? Would Rachel pick her over the other? But just as she thought it, she gave in, tossing the thought away.

"If I must." She smiled, stretching her arms out against the back seat. "I'm afraid its for the best, I would have beaten you all at weaving."

Rachel, finding a cue, quickly chimed in. "There is no beating, Dara, there is only more successful weaving."

The fact that it rhymed made her heart squirm and the smile a little easier. "I guess we'll never know." She watched tenderly as Rachel huffed and narrowed her eyes.

"_No_" was the emphasis. "We'll never know about our assumed knowledge of knowing." Rachel laid down the law, and since she was as stubborn as a mule, she couldn't guess if Rachel intended to make a joke or not. Either way, she loved bickering with the girl. As long as the words remained short and happy, she could do it all night. Though secretly, in some crevice of herself, she did find some enjoyment in those other fights, the ones where all eyes turned away, locked behind closed doors, she could exercise that hidden despair. That angry frustration.

They fell into a more advertising conversation, one that Dara even contributed to, mostly just to egg Rachel on. It felt nice, talking and listening, even when she didn't mean half of what was said - having never being a musical enthusiast - but she found it pleasant, and would have even called it fun had things gone differently. The car bumped along the road until it finally pulled away, the tires hitting the grit of the gravel, the sound leveling above words and conversation.

They sat in silence, if only for a moment. Maybe it was only a second. In fact, Dara might not have even breathed, maybe her heart didn't even beat. But, as normal as it seemed at the time, upon later reflection, it was clear that time had passed much slower than normal and lasted far longer, long enough for it to be considered monumental.

Rachel had not seen it coming, and though Dara had looked for every bad intent, neither had she; they only caught the tail end of it, only understanding when it was happening, when Finn leaned in too close. His proximity stunned her words, his breath hitting her lips, his target missed only by inches. Dara became a statue, internally frozen, she felt a calamity in the air. Quietly, she watched Rachel react.

"Wha-" The words quickly died off, cut off by lack of breath. Rachel's neck cramped as she canted back, avoiding those warm hovering lips. Dara couldn't breathe. She didn't feel anything outside the dull pain of fingernails, digging deeply into her hand. At a better distance, Rachel managed to speak. "Finn!"

Time moved normally then, and it seemed not even a second had passed because Dara let out the same breath she had been holding. But something must have stopped because her heart tripped over itself to catch up, making up for something.

Finn swallowed thickly and slowly backed away. His eyes regarded her distrustfully, as though she was the one that just tripped over the carefully drawn lines of friendship. He watched her cautiously, his throat bobbing up and down; those brown eyes now showcased their hesitation, previously so confident.

"Finn..." Rachel uttered quietly, at a complete loss to the situation. The proper way how to handle and to react fluttered from the open window, leaving them to their own devices. Rachel just stared deeply into unsteady eyes. Finn quickly dropped the gaze, his cheeks burning into a bright rosy red. He swallowed thickly again while a short gruntled sound got caught in his throat. White clear imprints were being pressed into Dara's skin, half moon shapes and hard fingernails.

"I'm sorry." Finn mumbled, barely getting the words out there. He shuffled closer to the door and his hand find the handle, just playing with it now, but the intention was still clear.

"Finn..." Rachel apparently was at a loss of words too, because it seemed his name was all she could manage. After a struggling minute, however, she managed to choke out the rest. "You have a girlfriend."

It was an eerie feeling, being mentioned when you're not there. Quinn peered out of her mind, shyly watching the scene with her. It was like whispering behind a friend's back with fear of them listening, only rearranged differently so it was backwards and suddenly you're the girl listening to your crush talk to her crush, chastising him about his crush because he had a girlfriend; you.

Finn's face grew grim, his mouth tucking down again. He must not have expected this result. Maybe he never expected to kiss Rachel at all. She should be able to understand that things go unexpectedly, but with Rachel's face in her mind and the distance of their lips tingling in her skin, she felt a hot flush of anger overrule her. There was a distant _whirring_ in her gut, like she had created a storm inside and it was battling her skin with harsh winds.

"Finn." This time it was marked with a hint of impatience, the creep of anger making its way in. "Are you going to talk to me?"

Finn looked in pain, his eyes flickering quickly away. He couldn't make eye contact, and that, in the end, must have saddened Rachel the most. "Maybe I should just go."

"You can't ju-"

"It was a mistake, I don't know what I was doing." Finn quickly urged over Rachel's words, his eyes widening into the large wounded puppy look. His face pinched and for a moment, he looked angry. "Quinn is just _so_-" he suddenly cut off as though he knew the peril of his next words and forgot them altogether. With a few heavy breaths, he finally settled with a sigh. "I just thought you liked me."

Again, wordless, Rachel just uttered his name. The night was over, they both knew, but Rachel still winced when Finn opened the door, and when it closed; it didn't even slam. It just softly clicked, but it was loud enough for the only two girls in the car to feel it deep in their bones. It felt like something was changing, like a page was turning and everything was going to be different.

Inside, Dara reeled with words she wished she to say. She wanted to crush Finn, make him untouchable, make him unavailable. She wanted to make Rachel see only disgust for him. But the anger and the hard beating of Quinn's heart was separated by what she chose to respond, dividing them again.

"Are you okay?"

"I-" Rachel sighed and looked down at the steering wheel. A clear fingernail moved and tapped tentatively against the wood, testing out the silence. It must've been too much, because with a soft groan she laid a hand against her head, covering her eyes and forehead. She didn't speak, soft words left her in silence.

Quietly, tentatively, Dara slid from her seat and made her way to Rachel's side. She moved like a spider across the middle centerpiece and maneuvered around in the small crawl space the best she could. But finally, she managed to be right beside her, her legs squished into the same space as Rachel's, her feet resting against her own, the brake pedal pressed completely down.

She didn't know what to say, because honestly, jealousy wasn't the nicest companion. It didn't tread kindly in delicate moments and always made her stomach churn and come up with the worst of words. So with her fingers, she tried to press out what she meant to say, gently brushing back dark strands of hair behind a surprisingly small ear.

She looked down and felt a crushing hurt in her chest, watching Rachel's eyes fill up with tears. Her lower lip trembled and Dara had to bite back the urge to lean in and fix it, and end up ruining everything again. She was almost surprised to hear her fear out loud. "I ruin everything."

When she realized who said it, jealousy quickly whisked out and in its place was a sharp, hurting pain. "No you _don't_." The emphasised passed forcefully between them, but it didn't lift Rachel's eyes.

"But I _did_ lead him on. I did." She shook her head and her eyes quickly darted away. "It wasn't to be mean, it wasn't even to hurt Quinn. She just _goads_ me so _much_, and sometimes I can't help but want to show her that she's wrong." The contradiction frustrated Rachel and she quickly shook her head, a sigh of frustration already on her lips. And though Dara's hand fell out of reach, she went on reaching. "I don't know what I'm saying, it wasn't even about her."

There was a stifling moment of silence and Dara fought off that queer feeling again, trying again to brush Rachel's hair back. She was glad when Rachel let her start up again, allowing them fall back into a pattern. Thankfully, the words fell out again, the silence lessening with a sigh. "He was just so nice to me. He was my only friend."

"He still is." she was both surprised and glad to find those words come out of her, even more when she hoped it to be true. When Rachel didn't respond and the teary mistiness only grew, Dara felt a tortured panic start to arise in her chest. She searched desperately for something to say to fix everything.

When she found it, she tried it out tentatively in the silence, every word piqued in hesitance. "Do you want to go weaving?"

She guessed right. Rachel crumbled and tipped her head back. "Yes." Her eyes squinted close and the water in her eyes finally formed into tears, dotting her eyelashes. Dara thumbed them away, scooting a little closer, looking for the right way to say _I'm driving_. She ended up just tentatively padding Rachel's leg until she guessed it right. It took some more work getting the positions switched, Dara sliding into the drivers seat as Rachel clumsily crawled over her, but they did well enough.

Eventually they worked it out, and the silence wasn't so severe.

But it was still a relief to hear it break. "Dara?"

"Yes?" she asked, quietly trying to pull out of the street, spoiled in her efforts only by the weight of the tires, having sparked another argument with the ground.

Rachel didn't seem to mind, her voice raised clearer than before. "I'm really glad you're my friend."

Dara blinked and her hand fumbled with the turn indicator, the green blinking irritating her eye. When she managed to turn correctly, she laughed the small butterflies out of her chest, warmth melting her chest. "Me too."

* * *

><p>This is so long and I don't even know why, this was supposed to be one of my shorter chapters, but it just came out this way. Next chapter is Quinn!<p>

If you're curious as to why this took so long, talk to my therapist! No, I don't have a therapist. So just review instead!

(it was clever)

**Edit:** So I published this at midnight and I just realized I had published some problems, so I'm deleting it and putting it back up there. No probs if you're reading this now. Also, tell me if I'm too mean to Finn, because honstly, I don't like the boy - so I'm afraid my writing may come off a little biased.


End file.
